#featuring the Water Cravat
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He needs a break. A chance to breathe for a moment. This lifestyle sometimes feels like the corsets that Robin is always complaining about — too tight, too constricting, and superfluously unnecessary. Steve pities Robin, and the rest of the poor women, who have to deal with both. The circumstance and the corsets.
Steve knows better than to complain, though. He lives a lavish existence, one that many people would give anything to have. It isn’t fair of him to pity himself like this when there are so many people out there that are so much worse off than him. He should feel grateful. Lucky, even.
But it’s hard not to feel suffocated instead, sometimes.
The alcove is quiet, thank god, and void of any stray party guests. It’s hidden away, tucked between two rocks that overlook the seaside, and the crash of waves from down below has a mollifying effect on Steve’s agitated disposition.
He reaches for the cravat at his neck, loosening it with deft fingers. He’s in the act of tugging it away from his throat when the clear crunch of a footstep has him spinning around sharply.
And there, emerging from the shadows to block Steve’s only escape route, is a man.
The first thing Steve notices about the man is the curtain of dark curls that frame his face. They’re long enough to tumble freely over his shoulders, and they’re pulled back by a thick swath of fabric, deep red in color. The ends of his bangs peek out from beneath the bandana, as do a pair of thin braids, each tied off with two hollowed out pearls.
With his hair out of his face, Steve can see it all. Every single feature, open and on display — those soft cheekbones, that sloping nose, the gnarled scar that stretches across the left side of his jaw and pulls the corner of his mouth into a twisted, permanent smile.
Steve is sure that he’s never seen this man before, and yet there is something achingly familiar about him. A tugging within his gut; it feels like he should know him, but from what, he can’t quite place.
The man’s left ear is pierced through twice, two identical gold hoops looped through the skin. And just beneath his ear he has a small mark. A tattoo. Steve isn’t quite close enough to make out just what it’s of. He squints his eyes and nearly takes a step closer to take a proper look, but catches himself before he does.
It’s then that Steve realizes that he’s been staring, borderline ogling, for much longer than is appropriate, too. His cheeks warm as he averts his eyes to the ground. But rather than the cobblestone path below, his gaze falls to the man’s feet.
Flared brown boots cover those feet, rising up nearly to his knees. They’re old looking, worn and well-purposed, but still sturdy, even after countless strops though mud and water and sand and all sorts of other rough terrains. Beneath the boots, his stalwart calves and strong thighs are encased in rough-hewn black breeches, tight, yet functional.
Steve’s eyes stray further up, despite his best efforts.
The man wears a thick brown leather belt, layered with a silken red cloth and an even thinner black belt, this one scaled like a dragon, with a shiny gold buckle. It sits around his waist, atop an open black vest that accentuates his slim figure. His blouse beneath is a deep wine red, made from a gauzy looking material that clings to his skin. Steve imagines that if it were to get wet it would be absolutely sinful. The neck of it is rather plunging, too, exposing the man’s collarbones, and the corner of another tattoo on his chest.
And there, above his heart and to the right, in the very center, hangs a pendant — some sort of serpentine creature with wings, gaudy and golden and absolutely eye-catching.
Steve feels a little hot under the collar, taking it all in. He has to look away.
The man makes an amused humming sort of noise. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” He drawls, flicking both eyebrows up at once. A lazy grin unfurls across his full lips, and he practically drapes himself over the rock behind him.
The position puts his whole body even further on display, in an entirely new way this time, and looking away is futile now. Steve’s eyes are heedlessly drawn back to it, raking over every inch. It feels… dangerous, to be looking this much, this long, but he can’t help it.
The man lifts a hand to examine his black varnished nails, an air of boredom to the action. His fingers are adorned with chunky silver rings that glint in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Casually, he pulls a dagger from its hiding place amongst the belts and uses the sharp tip to pick at one of his nails.
Idly, he starts to whistle — a low, warbling tune that has an almost menacing edge to it.
It, too, strikes a chord of remembrance in Steve, and he wracks his brain trying to think of where he’s heard it. And then it hits him.
“You’re a pirate!” He gasps out. It sounds scandalized, when he says it, though, really, he isn’t scandalized at all. He doesn’t find himself very afraid, either, though he knows he should be. Instead, he’s just intrigued.
The man snickers. “Very good, sweetheart,” he commends, tucking the dagger away again. He brushes his knuckles against his shirt. “What gave it away?”
Steve frowns. “What are you doing here? Where’s your ship?”
“What am I doing here?” The man repeats. Laughs this breezy little thing. “I’m meant to be taking you prisoner, actually,” he tells Steve.
“Take me— prisoner?” Steve repeats, shock coloring his tone. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.
“Oh, yes,” the man replies, pushing himself off of the rock. He starts to circle Steve. “I’m meant to be snatching you up— well, that’s the interpretation of it, anyways. All they said was that I needed to deal with you, and, really, that’s so vague.”
He starts to circle Steve, slinking around him slowly, purposefully. His voice carries as he does. “Pirates are supposed to be unscrupulous, though, aren’t they? What with all the threatening and the stealing and the killing and the like. I figured it only makes sense that I take you.”
Steve has a million questions — like who the hell is they? And what do they want with him? And why did they send a pirate to do their dirty work?
Instead, what comes out is, “I guess that would make sense.”
He folds his arms over his chest, just for something to do with them, and then a thought surfaces to the forefront of his brain.
A crease forms between his eyebrows, and his lower lip pushes out into a contemplative pout as he mulls it over. “But what if—” he starts. Pauses. Cuts himself off like he won’t dare finish the thought.
Only it’s too enticing, too tempting not to.
“What if you didn’t take me?”
The man comes to a stop right in front of Steve. He’s close, much closer than anyone would normally be comfortable with, but Steve doesn’t care. If anything, he has to refrain from curling his fingers into that necklace and using it to leverage him even closer.
Steve looks into the man’s dark eyes. Big, endless, easy to lose himself to. But he doesn’t. He meets them head on, unwavering with his gaze, as if he’s challenging him.
“Sweetheart,” the man starts, dripping with condescension. He raises a hand and flattens it against the rock behind Steve, boxing him in. Another wry chuckle tumbles past his lips. “I don’t think you get it,” he says. “I have an order. I need to follow it.”
Steve just his chin up, defiant. “I don’t think you get it,” he returns, poking the man in the chest, much to his astonishment.
“What if you didn’t take me,” Steve repeats slowly, putting emphasis on his meaning. “But what if I… went with you anyways?”
It takes a moment for the words to properly sink in, but when they do, a slow spreading surprise settles over the man’s face. “Oh,” he says, sounding pleased. His lips curl back into a grin that bares his teeth. “How rebellious of you,” he tuts.
“You say rebellious, I say free-thinking,” Steve replies, brushing him off.
The man’s smirk grows, but he doesn’t accept the proposition. Not yet. Instead, he watches Steve carefully, like he expects his bravado to fall away any second now and for Steve to renege.
But Steve holds his ground. He’s not taking it back. He’s not chickening out. In fact, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.
He’s going to go with this man.
Finally, the man relents. “If that’s what you want,” he says.
“It is,” Steve replies, without hesitation.
The man gives a firm nod, and without another word, he turns on his heel and starts to briskly walk away.
Steve scrambles to follow him, out through the opening of the rocks and across the open courtyard that leads towards the port. He glances behind him every so often to make sure that he hasn’t been spotted or followed by any of the partygoers. By any of his family.
But each time he looks, there’s no one.
He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or thrilled by that.
The further he gets from the party, though, the easier it gets to breathe. Like the noose around his neck loosens with each step. That almost makes him want to laugh, considering his choice here would earn him a real one, permanently.
Ships line the port, when they finally make it to the water’s edge. Great big ones, with hulking hulls and dozens of ballooning sails. There are at least four, anchored in the bay, but none of them stick out to Steve as a pirate ship. Not that Steve’s ever actually seen a pirate ship before. He’s only heard tales. Still, he expected that they’d be distinct.
The man approaches one of the ships, and he doesn’t hesitate before tromping up the shoddy wooden gangway and stepping foot onto the polished deck. His hands slide onto his hips and he casts a wide glance around. He takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, his whole body relaxing as he does. Like he’s finally home.
He turns then, back towards Steve and offers out his hand.
Steve looks down at it, then back up at the man.
“I’m Steve,” he says, taking it. The man’s palm is rough against Steve’s, but it’s warm too. It feels nice.
The man laughs. “I know,” he says. “And I’m—”
It’s then that Steve notices it. It’s subtle, in the sense that it’s just the one detail. But that detail itself is anything but. Just past the man’s head, right in the center of the biggest sail, a red devil. Pointed horns protruding from its skull, wicked yellow eyes, razor sharp teeth.
It is unmistakable.
“You’re Eddie Munson,” Steve says, recognition finally hitting. And, jesus christ, he feels so stupid for not realizing sooner. The most notorious pirate in all of the seven seas — how could he have forgotten?
“That I am,” Eddie muses. Then he uses his grip on Steve’s hand to pull him the rest of the way onboard.
It tightens, and he doesn’t let go right away, like maybe he thinks Steve will try and make a run for it now that he knows who he is.
But Steve doesn’t. He stands his ground, holds Eddie’s gaze steady.
Something zings up Steve’s spine as Eddie’s big eyes bore back into his own, and he thinks briefly to himself that whatever he’s gotten himself into here, it’s going to be well worth it. He’s in for the adventure of a lifetime here.
Eddie drops his hand then, and a slow grin, just as devilish as his flag unfurls across his pretty lips. He flourishes one of his own hands out around him.
“Steve Harrington,” he practically purrs. “Welcome to Hellfire.”
#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#mack writes#macks ficlets#so i wrote this instead of working on any of the fics i actually should be working on rn lol#i listened to voulez vous by abba and my brain went pirates and well. here we are.#funny story also bc a good chunk of the first half of this actually came from something i was going to write for a totally different fandom#but never ended up writing so it just sat collecting dust until today!#10 bucks if you can guess the fandom (and no it is not ofmd or any other actual genuine pirate fandom lol)
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Stay ~ Copia x Female!Reader
Fandom: Ghost
Rating: Explict
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, blood drinking, oral sex, p in v sex
Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x Female!Reader
Characters: Papa Emeritus IV, Female!Reader
Additional Tags: Dracopia, Vampire!Copia, no use of y/n
Words: 3,758
Summary: Instead of meeting the Hat Man in your Benedryl-induced dreams, you meet Copia.
Author's Note:
So you know how people say they see the Hat Man when they take Benedryl? Yea, this was inspired by that idea.
This is only the second fic I've written in a second-person point of view, and the first fic I've written in the present tense, so I apologize for any mistakes in point of view or tense. I also apologize for any poorly Google-translated Italian you might see in this fic.
AO3
You can’t sleep. The seasonal changes brought about your allergies and the sneezing, sore throat, and watering, stinging eyes made it impossible to get any kind of rest. You sigh as you look at the two small, pink pills in your hand. Benedryl would be sure to put you to sleep and ease your symptoms. You couldn’t sneeze if you were in a coma. You pop the pills and down a glass of water before changing into your pajamas—a pair of cotton shorts that barely covers your ass, and a thin, white t-shirt. You crawl into bed and make yourself cozy in your nest of blankets, pillows, and plushies. The Benedryl starts to take over and as your eyes grow heavy, a yawn escapes you.
You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake again it’s dark. The tv show you fell asleep to is long over leaving you stare at a black screen.You sit up and rub your eyes, looking for your phone to check the time. You feel alright physically but you know something is off. As your eyes squint through the darkness of your bedroom, you spot a humanoid shadow in the corner near your window. A chill runs down your spine as fear seeps into your bones. The shadow steps forward and the moonlight illuminates its features. The shadow is a man or something that looks like a man at least. He looks older than you, maybe in his late 40s or early 50s. His face is painted in black and white skull paint and his hair is combed back. The mismatched eyes, one a color you can’t discern, and the other the brightest of white stare into you.
“W-who are you?” You ask, pushing yourself back against your headboard and making yourself appear small. Maybe if you look defenseless whoever is standing in front of you won’t hurt you.
The figure says nothing as he approaches. He’s wearing a dark-colored jacket with fraying around the edges of the lapels, a blue cravat tied around the high-neck black shirt, and tight black pants that were distressed, frayed, and patched dawned his impressive legs. You find the man handsome and fascinating despite the fear surging through you.
The man smirks at you, now just a foot away from the edge of your bed. “I think the better question is what are you doing in my word, cara ?”
“Your world? This is my bedroom,” you said, your eyes darting around as though to confirm you are indeed in your room.
“Hmmm, it may be your room in your world, but you’re not in your world anymore. You’re in mine.” He’s closer, his gloved hands now bracing himself on the bed as he leans forward. He inhales deeply, as though taking in your scent, and lets out a contentful sigh. “You smell delicious, cara .”
“W-what?” You ask, your eyes wide in shock and fear as you lean away from him. “This is a dream. I’ve got to be dreaming.”
He chuckles, a gloved hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “You better hope and pray that you make it safe back to your own world.”
Your eyes snap open as you sit straight up in bed. The sunlight from the window on the other side of the room is filtering through the sheer curtains, bathing your room in warm light. You let out a sigh of relief. “Just a dream,” you say, falling back against your pillows. You feel your heart racing in your chest, but you can’t tell if it is from fear or the touch of the man from your dreams. You might have been afraid, but you get the sense that the man will not actually hurt you.
~~~
It is another night of allergies ruining your rest, and two Benedryl later, you are dozing off once more. You fall into the same dream. You wake up in your dark bedroom and the man from your dream days prior is there once more. He stands at the foot of your bed smirking at you.
“Welcome back, cara ,” he says.
“How did I get back here?” You ask.
“Your mind, eh, reached out for me,” he says as though he’s not sure how you got back there either.
“Who even are you?”
“Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Copia. I already know your name.”
“How?”
“Beh, I have my ways,” he says as he walks around to your side of the bed. “You don’t seem as fearful today.”
“Well this is a dream and you can’t hurt me in a dream. It’s not real,” you say almost smugly.
He lets out a chuckle. “Are you sure about that, tesoro ?”
Doubt fills you at his words. This isn’t just any average dream and deep down you know that. This is different; almost like you fell into a parallel universe.
“Ah I see your gears turning,” Copia says, leaning closer to you. He inhales your scent once more and smiles, flashing your two long, sharp canines. “You still smell delicious.”
Your eyes stay on his mouth and the fangs he bears. “What are you?” You have a suspicion, but you want confirmation.
His lips curve upward. “Why, cara , I am a vampire. I thought it was obvious.”
“It was not,” you respond. “At least not until I saw the fangs.”
“Are you scared?”
You stop and think about it. Were you scared? You aren’t sure how you feel now. Fear isn’t the right word though. You don’t think he will hurt you, and the detail about him being a vampire? That didn’t bother you. If anything, it excites you.
“No,” you answer.
He’s even closer now. He smells of bergamot and cedar and it’s intoxicating. You feel his breath on your skin as he speaks into your ear. “You should be,” he growls as his hand comes to your throat and tilts it away from him, exposing the smooth skin of your neck. You saw a flash of fangs and—
You wake, the sunlight making a bright spot on the ceiling above you that makes you squint. You sit up and look around your room. You’re alone once more.
“Fuck.”
~~~
You want to see Copia again. After the last dream, or visit, you had with him, you find yourself wanting him. You want his hands all over you. You want his fangs and teeth on your skin. You want him all.
Unfortunately, you are out of the medication that allows you to have the strange dreams. As you lay in bed, you will yourself to go to sleep. Your mind focuses on Copia—his face, his eyes, his scent. You’re not sure if you will see him in your dreams tonight. Perhaps he only lives in the dreams Benedryl allows you to have.
Eventually, you fall asleep and wake a few hours later. Your room is dark and quiet. The moonlight gives the room a soft glow. You look at your phone. It’s just after two in the morning. You look around your room and don’t see anyone. Copia isn’t hiding in the shadows waiting to step out towards you. He’s only ever a dream fueled by medication it seems. You sigh sadly as you turn onto your side. You close your eyes, fully intent on falling back asleep, when you hear a voice.
“ Cara ,” it whispers.
You crack your eyes open and sit up. Your window is open now, letting the cool autumn breeze into your room. “What the—” You say sleepily as you move to get out of bed. But before you can swing your legs off the bed’s edge, he’s standing next to you, dressed in the same outfit as the last two visits.
“Is this a dream?” You ask as you blink. You almost want to pinch yourself to see if you are awake.
“No,” Copia says as he steps forward. “I came to your world this time.”
“Why?” you ask, but you already know the answer.
“Because I have to have you, tesoro ,” he says, his gloved hand coming to grip your chin and tilt it upwards to look at him. “ Sono qui per prendere ciò che è mio .” He leans down and his lips meet yours in a bruising and desperate kiss.
Your hand comes up and your fingers curl into his jacket, gripping it tight as your lips move against his. You feel the points of his fangs lightly poking at your lips as he kisses you. His tongue darts into your mouth, tasting you as you let a soft whimper escape your throat. His teeth nip at your bottom lip before trailing down your jawline to your earlobe. You feel this breath in your ear and it sends a delightful shiver down your spine. His fangs graze down your neck before stopping just over your jugular.
A sharp pain causes you to gasp and try to push away from him. It hurts so much and you want to get away. He grips you tightly, holding you to him making escape impossible. It feels like hot daggers piercing your skin and sending molten steel through your veins. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you feel trickles of blood run down your neck onto your shoulders, back, and chest. You feel Copia sucking your life essence into his mouth, and as he keeps going, the pain dissipates into pleasure. The molten steel finds its way to your sex and you can feel your wetness pooling there. As the endorphins flood your body, you moan, tilting your head back even further to give him more access. You feel his lips move upward into a smile against your skin. He seems pleased with how you are taking this now.
His mouth pulls back from your neck and you feel his tongue lick the puncture marks he made. He peppers kisses back up your neck and jaw before coming to your lips again. The coppery taste of your blood lingers on his lips as he crawls onto the bed. Copia's knees are on either side of your thighs as he pushes your upper body back down onto the mattress.
“Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me to go and I will,” Copia says when the kiss breaks. His hand finds its way under your night shift and you feel the leather against your skin.
“Please,” you say almost needily. “Don’t stop. Stay.” The idea of him stopping is unfathomable. You can’t stop. You need to go further—need that release that’s waiting for you. You need him and nothing else.
He says nothing as he pushes your shirt up over your breasts. Your nipples grow hard at the sudden exposure to cool air. He smirks at you before dragging his tongue lazily over one of the buds. Your head lolls back at the sensation just as he takes the nipple between his lips and sucks on it. You let out a gasp as his teeth teases the sensitive skin. Before you become too lost in the feeling, he’s pulling your shirt off, gently helping lift your head and arms to remove it. The shirt drops out of sight on the floor as Copia's lips return to your breasts. As his mouth toys with you, his fingers slip under the waistband of your shorts and panties and finds your center. They slide up and down your slit and it’s like the floodgates open in you. There’s so much pleasure in the simple touch, and you can’t even comprehend how good it will feel when he’s finally in you. He lifts his head and you see his eyes blown out with lust.
“So wet for me,” Copia says as his finger finds your clit. The motion drags a moan from your throat, your eyes rolling back into your head. “And so responsive too.”
“Please,” you whine, arching your hips into his hand.
“Please what, dolcezza ?” He asks. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” you say. “I want your fingers, your mouth, your cock. I want you.”
He chuckles, his tongue flicking over a nipple. “And you will have me,” he says. “When I decide you’re good and ready.”
You whimper knowing he’s going to tease you into oblivion. He’s going to bring you to the edge but pull you back just before you tumble over. He’s going to decide when you can let go and you’re okay with that.
“I wonder if you taste as good as your blood tastes, eh,” Copia says as his lips move from your breasts and presses kisses down your stomach. He pulls his hand out of your pants and tugs your shorts and lacey panties down together. They join the shirt on the floor. Copia’s eyes roam over your body, taking in every detail of you. “ Bella ,” he breathes, his fingers trailing down your chest before slipping between your thighs.
He rubs your clit, making you moan again and buck your hips. Copia smirks as he moves back and lowers his head. He gives you one last look before his mouth is on your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit and swirls around it as his hands hold your hips down, preventing you from bucking against his face. You moan, your own hands finding their way into his hair and gripping his mousy locks. You’re getting close. You feel the pressure building in your core, aching to snap and come undone. You know you’re not going to last much longer when he slips his tongue into you.
“I’m close,” you pant, your fingers twisting in his hair and tugging. You can feel your release reaching its crest, and before you go over that peak, Copia pulls away from you. You let out a whine in frustration as your fingers are forced to let go of his hair.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he teases, his tongue licking his lips as he looks up at you. His skull paint is smeared around his mouth allowing the pink of his lips to show through the mix of now gray paint. “I’m not done with you just yet, cara .” His mouth moves to your inner thigh and he presses more kisses to your skin. He glances up at you before sinking his fangs into your thigh.
You are prepared for the feeling this time. That sharp, searing pain returns and you let out a whimper, but like the first time he bit you, the pain fades into a feeling of ecstasy. You watch as he takes your blood, his eyes are closed as though he is relishing in the taste. His mouth pulls away from your thigh before he licks the puncture wounds clean.
“I can’t decide what tastes better. You or your blood. Both are exquisite,” he says, crawling back up to you and kissing your lips.
You taste a mix of your blood and your juices on his lips and it turns you on even more. He pulls away from you and is kneeling between your legs. You watch as he pulls the blue cravat from his neck before he peels off the jacket he’s wearing. You sit up and bat his fingers away from the buttons of his shirt. His eyes focus on you as you unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders. Your fingers trace the lines of a “666” tattoo about his nipple before replacing them with your lips. You trail kisses along his chest as Copia’s fingers thread through your hair. His fingers curl into a fist and tugs, pulling your head back from his chest so you’re looking into his eyes now. His mismatched eyes bore into yours before capturing your lips with his again.
Your hands slip between your bodies and begin to work the laces of his pants. You take the time to stroke his length that’s straining against the material of his jeans. He lets out a groan at your touch. You pull apart the bow that’s knotted together and begin loosening the laces as his tongue works its way into your mouth. You moan as his hands move yours away from him. Copia pulls back from you and slips off the bed, pushing the tight pants down his legs. He’s not wearing any underwear, you note. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve been with, and your desire skyrockets. You subconsciously lick your lips and his eyes watch you intently.
“Do you like what you see, tesoro ?” He asks as he climbs back into your bed, positioning himself between your spread legs.
“I do,” you answer, looking him up and down. Your pussy throbs with need. You need him more than you ever needed anyone before.
He hums in response as his hands come to rest on the bed on either side of your head, caging you in as he holds himself above you. He leans down and kisses your lips almost tenderly this time. “Last chance,” he said. “I’ll go if you want me to.”
“Stay,” you say. “Stay with me.”
His eyes are ablaze with carnal desire as he pushes himself back up, taking his cock in his hand and stroking it a couple of times before lining up with your entrance. He slides the head up and down your slit. The moan that left your mouth turns into a whimper as you lift your hips in want. He smirks at you, his eyes flicking to your face as he slowly pushes into you. He stretches you, creating a delicious sting as he fills you.
“You’re so tight,” he pants as he bottoms out in you. “ Cazzo …”
You are in complete bliss. You didn’t think it was possible to feel as good as you do now. “You feel so good,” you breathe. “Oh god, you feel so good.”
He pulls out slowly, almost as though he’s teasing you on purpose before he pushes back into you. You moan as your legs wrap around his waist, pushing him deeper into you. He lets out a low groan, his eyes closing in a moment of bliss before he begins to move. His thrusts are hard and fast making you whimper and moan. Your eyes close, taking in every little detail of how this feels when you feel his hand on your cheek.
“Open your eyes, cara,” he says in a low voice. “I want to see your eyes when you cum.”
You obey and open your eyes to meet his. His hand falls away from your cheek and moves to your breast, massaging it and pinching the nipple as he continues to move in and out of you. You let out a small gasp at his touch and watch as his fingers lightly trail down your stomach and to your mound before finding your clit. He readjusts one of your legs, putting it up on his shoulder and allowing him to push into you even deeper.
You cry out at the new sensation, your fingers gripping the sheets under you while one of your hands grips his arm. Your nails dig into his skin so hard you think you’ll draw blood. You feel your core tighten as a familiar pressure begins to build in you. As he begins to stimulate your clit, you can’t help but let go. Your orgasm is intense as it burns through you, wiping your mind of all thought and making you see white for a second. You clench around his cock, making him moan as he stills in you for a second before continuing to fuck you.
“That’s right, tesoro , cum on my cock,” he purrs. “ Cazzo , you look divine when you cum.”
You can’t form a single response. All you can think about is how he is fucking you and how good it feels. “Oh god,” you moan as he continues to drive into you. His thrusts are relentless as he buries his face in your neck, nipping at the bite marks he created. He reopens the wound and drinks from you again, his cock twitching inside you. You start to feel a second orgasm building in you as he takes your blood once more.
He moans as he pulls away from your neck, his lips bloody as he kisses you hard. His thrusts become erratic and you know he’s close to losing it as well. His face scrunches as though he’s concentrating on something before thrusting into you sharply one…two…three more times. He’s panting something in Italian that you can’t make out. You feel him spill inside you and it’s enough to set off your own orgasm, milking him of all he has to give. He lets out a low groan as his forehead rests against yours, his eyes closed.
The two of you are silent allowing the sound of your heavy breaths to fill the room. He opens his mismatched eyes and stares into yours.
“ Sorprendente ,” he whispers, his lips finding yours again. He pulls out of you and moves to lie next to you. You let out a small whine at the loss of him before you roll onto your side to look at him. You know he isn’t going to stay. This isn’t his world after all.
“Will I see you again?” You ask, hoping and praying you will.
“You will,” he confirms, his gloved hand resting on your cheek. “I wish I could stay, but the sun will be up soon and I must return to my own world.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
You didn’t know how soon was soon, but you trust him.
“Sleep, cara , I’ll stay as long as I can,” he says, this thumb stroking your cheek gently. It’s as though he has a hold over you and you obey, closing your eyes even though you didn’t want to. You feel his hand leave your face and rest on your hip as you slip into sleep.
When your eyes open again, it’s daylight out and Copia is gone. You’re convinced it was all a dream, but when you start to come to your senses, you realize you’re naked and your pajamas are still on the floor. You slip out of bed and go to the mirror hanging on your closet door. There are two small puncture marks on your neck and on your thigh. Your finger runs over the tiny bumps on your neck and you smile. You will see him again and you hope it’s in his world so you can stay as long as you wish.
Translations:
Cara: dear/darling
Tesoro: treasure
Sono qui per prendere ciò che è mio: I’m here to take what’s mine.
Dolcezza: sweetness
Cazzo: fuck
Sorprendente: amazing
#ghost#the band ghost#papa emeritus iv#copia#papa emeritus iv x reader#papa emeritus fanfic#papa emeritus iv x female reader#cardinal copia x reader#copia x reader#copia x female reader#cardinal copia x female reader#dracopia#vampire!copia#vampire copia#dracopia x reader#dracopia x female reader#fanfic#ghost fanfic#my fanfic#smut
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"Bah! Is there nothing in this harbor that a woman of high birth may enjoy?" Frances sighed as she neared the lillypad ponds in the upper parts of Liyue Harbor. The Cryo vision decorating her cravat glinting under the evening sunset as she came to stand next to the decorative pools.
She'd thought she'd at least be able to buy souvenirs for her friends in Fontaine. But no! Everywhere she looked were food stalls and restoraunts! Even the tea houses offered decadent piles of pies to enjoy along side warm cups.
Sighing to herself... before she noticed the surface of the water ripple. Had one of those Earthen Vishaps she'd heard stories about broken into the harbor? She wondered.
Thud.... thud... thud.
The slow and heavy plodding step of Yanfei was heard --and felt-- across Liyue City as the engorged mass of lawyer began to move along. One of the fattest in the city, one of the ones that remained in the city anyways, she was known far and wide. With skewers of grilled spiced fish in one hand, maw working away as sweaty huking blob-hemoth made her way along.
Slow, steady and clearly with some effort. Thanks to her vision however, she could handle it better than any without. Sure, sweat glistened her pale doughy features but she was not breathless nor tired, even as she lugged what must of rivalled a Vishap in weight along.
What a sight.
What a parade float of a lady to witness!
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@blackrosesmatron asked:
[quiet jealousy] - Your muse (senders) becomes jealous over my muse (receiver) for whatever reason, and expresses it non-verbally, lingering closer to my muse than usual, touching them casually, etc. (Program!LB)
𝗩𝗜𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗚𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗦 𝗟𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗖'𝗦 𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗔 𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗥. Golden eyes suddenly lock onto that beautifully-crafted hand that skims along the front of his shirt - it moves slowly to adjust his crimson cravat - and a dark blush paints his cheeks almost as red as the silk around his neck.
"LeBlanc," he stutters, turning to face her fully now, one pale countenance looking right back into her green features, "you - you do not have to do that."
The inventor's mouth waters and somehow goes dry, all at once, and all he can do is stand there, lips pressed into a flustered smile. More pressure. More adjusting of the cravat.
Viktor is almost buzzing right out of his skin from the attention.
Near the pair, Jayce works in his part of the lab, busily constructing Atlas gauntlets, unaware that his chatter with Viktor had caused LeBlanc to get jealous. He hums as he works -
The Zaunite feels her finger hook under his lapel, and he actually shudders in delight.
Viktor stares at her, embarrassed that her closeness could cause him to react so much. Letting the moment hang between them, begging to cross the distance, he watches her just stay ever-close and then his metallic eyes flick down to her lips. As if being caught by her, he guiltily looks up, and leans against the lab bench.
"I - eh, I - "
A soft, airy laugh leaves the back of his throat.
"Did I make you upset?"
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Trying to write things... Ah, the old struggle. Not really liking what I’ve been able to do lately. Idk everything just sounds wrong. But here’s a part of a fic I’ve been working on for ages which I am actually pretty pleased with. The whole thing is nearing 10k words now and I hope I’ll manage to post it eventually.
---
“Are you able to sit up, oynon?”
One chocolate eye cracks open before Dankovsky rises midway like a wraith to rest on his unoccupied elbow. His hideous jacket hangs off his form at the waist, it piling around him in a leathery moat. In only his fitted vest and shirtsleeves, Artemy is struck by how thin his colleague looks.
That signature smug exterior glides effortlessly back across Dankovsky's features. “A posteriori, if I had been aware of the duration of time it would take you to fetch a mere bottle of water, O mighty Haruspex, I surely would have insisted I consume one from my own supply instead. And here I was just starting to miss you, in your absence.”
“Well, we can’t have that, now can we? Don't need you ending up all bogged down with any pesky feelings of attachment.”
“Indeed. My final downfall.”
In one nimble, controlled motion, his gloved hand reaches forward to pluck the container from Artemy’s outstretched hand. He grasps it around the neck with the tips of his fingers, not making contact between the two of them.
“You’re welcome.”
“Na zdrowie.”
Dankovsky tilts his head back, from his slanted angle, and swallows several hurried gulps of the bottle’s contents. The snowy apple of his throat bobbing in rhythm with each pull. A single bead of clear water breaks away from the flowing path and escapes down the corner of Dankovsky’s mouth, rolling over his chin and making a journey down the sublime curve of his unprotected neck until reaching its ultimate destination: buried into scarlet silk. So inconsequential in size that Artemy can’t see any touch of wetness left by the droplet on the man’s cravat.
Turning away (out of politeness, he tells himself), Artemy retakes his place sitting to the right of the thanatologist on the autopsy table. He folds his hands in his lap patiently, shoulders squared, looking altogether quite composed, and doesn't think about how moistened the academic's lips must be at that very moment.
#Pathologic#Daniil Dankovsky#Artemy Burakh#Burakhovsky#writing wip#just two colleges sitting on a stone slab in a basement#not even a foot apart cause they're very gay
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The Ocean Hunter: Eyes of Truth - Log Entry 01-01
Log Entry 00 | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04
First page (this!) | Previous page | Next page
***Where do I start?***
***That is a good question.***
***I could've started with that one day, but it wouldn't make sense.***
***But if I had to remember how it really all began, I might as well start here.***
~~~~~~~
== Plymouth, England; June 13, Year 10 ==
The sun rose from the horizon and halfway into the middle of the sky as the hour gave way to morning.
Torel looked up at the sky as they lied on the cool grass, hearing the morning activities unfold from the city in the distance. They were dressed in a school uniform - an aqua green waistcoat over a white shirt, complete with their blue cravat; a navy blue jacket with the school badge sewn on the left side, navy blue pants, dark blue socks, and black Oxford shoes.
A few seagulls flew overhead, cawing. A moment later a small airship - probably a newer model, still retaining the blunt copper and brass colors as its predecessors - flew by, giving off the usual whup whup whup noise like every airship that had passed by the city in the sky every day. The waves coming from the sea crashed against the cliffs at the foot of the hill. A cold breeze blew by, counteracting the noise left behind by the airship and adding to the cool morning air.
Torel blinked for a moment and continued to stare at the sky for some time before letting out a small sneeze.
"Morning, sleepyhead."
Torel turned to their side and noticed Chris sitting right besides them. He too wore the same uniform but with a few minor personal changes - he wore a loose blue bow tie instead of the uniform dark navy tie, the dark orange belted arm glove that he always wore on his left arm, and goggles perched over his eyes. Plus, he didn't wear the waistcoat, as usual. Judging from the book in his hand - Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - and the page he's currently on, which was near the end, it would seem that Torel themself was asleep for a long while. Right now, though, he's looking down at them.
Chris promptly closed the book. "Better get up. We'll be late if we don't get back in half an hour," he said, putting the book into his satchel.
"Yeah," Torel said as they sat up with a grin, stretching and rubbing their eyes.
They took out a brass pocket watch from their pocket and checked the time. The grin on their face almost died in surprise.
"Blimey!" they shouted in shock.
They quickly scrambled to grab their satchel, which had been their pillow for their impromptu nap, and got up on their feet. Now that they were up, they got a better view of their surroundings. He and Chris were at the city park, but it was the hill they were standing on that was one of its defining feature. Likewise, the hill looked out to a spectacular view of the sea beyond. If one were to look to their right, they would see a nearby shipyard, the blackened ruins of what used to be a factory, and a small part of the city in the distance. To the left was a lighthouse sticking out from the water in the far distance. A statue loomed over the two from the pavement a few meters behind them.
As Chris slung the satchel over his shoulder and got up, he glanced at Torel and noticed something.
"Torel, you OK? You're looking rather pale."
"Huh?"
Torel touched their own cheek. It felt cold. A few beads of sweat streaked down from their forehead.
"Oh? Yeah, I'm fine. It's...probably from the morning heat."
Chris gave them a dubious but concerned look. "It hasn't been very hot or humid in the past hour." He started to move towards them, raising his left hand to feel their temperature on their forehead. "You sure you're OK? You didn't had the nightm-?"
Torel quickly caught his hand before he could press it against their forehead, prompting Chris to stop what he was going to say, and gently pushed it away. Chris pulled his hand back.
"I'll be OK. Really. Let's just head back," they reassured him.
~~~~~~~
The sun shined down from the middle of the sky as the bell rang from the building below.
"I still can't believe exams are in three days," Torel exclaimed as they and Chris exited the classroom and into the long hallway. Crowds of students surged by, fighting their way to the large wooden doors to get outside. "But when it's done, that's when we both can catch a good break!"
Chris noticed their queer platonic partner's beaming face and rolled his eyes, smirking.
"On the contrary, you didn't fall asleep in class for the first time."
"Hey, even if I didn't take that nap at the park before classes started today, I still wouldn't doze off! Not with exams coming up!"
"That doesn't justify for the previous times you did."
"Well, to be fair, I was dropped off here ninety minutes before classes began today because the butler decided, for some reason, that I should start arriving early to prepare for the exams. But, what better way to spend that extra time by exploring a part of the city-."
"Mr. Lee!"
A light brown-skinned instructor pushed his way through the crowd towards the two young adults.
"You have a phone call up at the office. It's from your uncle."
Chris blinked a bit before nodding in response. He looked at Torel. "I'll be right back soon."
"OK."
Torel watched as Chris followed the instructor to the office, disappearing into the crowd. Shortly after a dark-skinned girl with dark short hair walked past by Torel and followed in the same direction Chris had taken.
I should probably wait outside. No point staying in the hallway at this hour.
They turned around and headed for the exit. Most of the students had already exited the building by now.
"Hey, seashell head!"
Torel froze on the spot, not daring to look over their shoulder to the source of the familiar voice calling over to them. If they had, they would've noticed a tall fair-skinned student along with his buddies walking their way towards them.
"Enjoyed your little nap, Alice?" the bully sneered.
His buddies snickered.
Still not bothering to turn around, Torel tried to keep their voice steady and calm as they replied, "What nap? What are you guys talking about?"
"You should've known better not to return to you little underwater Wonderland during class~."
His buddies howled with laughter.
"Oh? No," Torel quickly said, their voice starting to stammer. "None of that sort happened today. Now if you don't mind..."
They immediately power-walked their way to the door.
Hurry up, Chris...
"Hey! Hold it right there," the bully exclaimed, quickly walking up towards them. His hand reached out to grab them by the hair.
"Hey, sod off, you guys."
A tall, burly, fair-skinned with an ashen tone upperclassman quickly stepped in between Torel and the bully, his buddies following after the latter. He had his hands on his hips as he glared at the bully.
The bully scowled. "Or what, Damien? You're gonna start a fight, like you always do? And at this hour with everyone gone? Quite bold of you."
"Oi."
The bullies turned around to see Chris standing behind them. His arms were crossed across his chest, and already at the first sight of his glare towards them, the bullies immediately jumped. Although his face appeared serious, his voice right then and there gave off a dark, menacing vibe that would freeze someone on the spot.
"What're think you guys are doing, picking on my partner?"
The bullies immediately hightailed out the door, screaming.
"Idiots," Damien scoffed at the fleeing bullies.
"Thanks a lot, you guys," Torel let out a big breath of relief. "If you guys hadn't came..."
"No problem," Damien replied, crossing his arms. "Although I'm sure Chris could've taken care of them without me."
"Yeah, I kind of forgot that he can..."
Torel glanced over Damien's shoulder to look at Chris and noticed him talking quietly to the dark-haired girl they saw earlier - Kayla, they mentally reminded themself. His hand was on her arm as they talked. She looked at him with sad eyes, but then nodded. Chris then walked back to them.
"Sorry. Let's go."
The two stepped out of the building and into the afternoon sunlight. By this time, most of the students would have gone home, so the yard was somewhat empty, save for a few groups of students lingering around to hang out and chat. Damien had exited the building just now and was heading to one of the groups, raising his arm as he announced his presence, and the group exclaiming in response to him.
"So what did Mr. Lee called you for?" Torel asked.
"He said he won't be back from work until later tonight. One of the cars being worked on at the garage nearly blew up, so he needed to fix it and probably deal with the damage in the garage," Chris replied. "But he said I could go to your house, just for today," he added, lifting a finger up.
"Great!"
***Usually, Mr. Lee would've told Chris to head straight back home or come over to the garage to help, but today seemed to be an exception. Well, can't really blame him, not with the fact that exams were fast approaching at the time.***
The two then headed for the car parked in front of the school gates.
~~~~~~~
"Something on your mind?" Chris asked, concerned.
The car drove down the busy street, passing by small shops and stalls and people walking by. Inside the vehicle, Torel and Chris were sitting in the backseats, with the former looking absentmindedly out the window and the latter reading the same novel from earlier at the park (he's a few pages near the end). In Chris's case, however, he'd had put the book down to ask Torel the question upon noticing the odd look on their face that was reflected off the window.
"Huh? Oh, just...thinking about what to do later this week, after exams," Torel said, quickly turning to look at Chris.
Chris raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"It's just that, you've been dozing off a lot ever since January. It's like you haven't been able to sleep well after your birthday."
Torel sighed.
"How many times had we talked about this? I've told you, and everyone else who had asked, it's nothing to worry about. And this morning was no exception; it was just a simple nap."
"Says the one who kept on fidgeting and trying not to scream for five months straight in their so-called nap."
"OI!"
Torel couldn't tell if Chris was serious or joking there, but he wasn't wrong.
"Did you had the nightmare again at the park?" Chris then asked.
Torel hesitated at first, but then nodded after a couple minutes passed by.
"It's always been nothing but that dream." They clenched their right hand into a fist as they spoke. "Waking up underwater, wearing some strange diving suit, and being surrounded by shadowy monsters...not to mention a strange orb of light in the distance that I couldn't reach no matter how I tried...And I know that you'd said many times before that it could be a sign for something," Torel quickly added before Chris could say something.
"They still don't believe you?"
"Nope. Mother and Uncle still think I'm crazy, but I don't know about Father. I'd told him once, but he still hadn't said anything yet. Then again, you are the only person who believed me and took me seriously."
"The ‘only person’ outside your family," Chris corrected them.
"But really, Chris, please don't worry about it. Summer break is just around the corner. The nightmares should go away eventually and I'll finally get a good night's rest!"
Chris looked as if he wanted to say something, but he then closed his mouth. The concern didn't leave his face.
"I...highly doubt it would."
As the car made a turn into an open street, Torel looked out the window and watched as a small airship took off from the ship-crowded harbor in the distance. Chris returned to reading his book.
***Back in Father's day, the harbors used to be occupied with lots of seafaring ships. There were also a few aeroships back then, but they were rarely used due to how expensive it was to transport cargo or, in a lesser case, to own one. Instead, they were used to carry travelers across the Seven Seas to the other countries.***
***After the Seven Great Monsters came, though, aeroships were immediately in the demand outside of travelling, but the ships were still being used to transport cargo across the seas that would otherwise be too heavy for an aeroship to safely carry. Still, anyone would still use whatever ship that survived a Great Monster's attack and could still sail, but at a greater risk.***
#The Ocean Hunter#my art#The Ocean Hunter Eyes of Truth fancomic#fancomic#written#flashback#Torel#Chris#Damien Harrington#Kayla Hale#Chris was and still is concerned for his qpp Torel
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Chapter 18 temperature
Eiara.
Lady Eiar.
The Goddess.
Their time together replayed in his mind, scene by scene. Day by day.
The things he’d told her. The things he’d done to her!
His pain, his shame.
She’d healed him. Held him. Comforted him.
She knew what he was now.
She’d said she loved him!
The Goddess herself!
He felt…utterly disoriented.
His place in the Second Kingdom of Eladan had been restored. Thanks to her.
Otyris insisted that Loklan retire, but they would “discuss other important matters soon.” Whatever that meant.
Loklan didn’t have the wherewithal to question it.
The Bastard Prince was escorted back to his rooms. His royal chambers.
He bathed. Dressed in the clothes of a prince. Ate a decadent meal that he did not taste.
He stood before the tall mirror in his dressing room and blinked sightlessly at his reflection for long minutes before he realized how strange he looked.
Crisp black coat and trousers. Starched white cravat. Green vest. Silver embroidery. Sleek black boots. Inky hair hanging to the shoulder in neat, glossy waves.
His clothes would have to be tailored again. They hung loose on his frame. But the broad shoulders, narrow hips, and athletic grace were still there.
At last, his face came into focus.
Pale violet skin. Silver eyes with narrow, slitted pupils. Iridescent scales crept up his neck and along the corner of his jaw, past the temple, clinging to his hairline, flashing like oil on water when he turned his head.
A reptile in a prince’s suit.
It made him feel sick.
He’d touched the Goddess with these scaled purple hands.
She’d gazed into these serpentine eyes. Kissed these violet lips.
Abruptly, he couldn't stand to look at himself anymore. He cast the spell that turned purple skin to white and silver eyes to green. The spell Queen Firra had taught him.
Handsome again. Beautiful, chiseled features. Eladani elegance.
It should be a relief.
But the face looking back at him now was somehow no more familiar than the Zenopelti one. No more comforting.
He turned away from the mirror.
Eiara wanted to see him.
Otyris had said so. But he hadn’t said why.
Eiara. The Goddess.
He could not make them be one and the same in his mind.
Dread formed a bilious knot in his belly.
Loklan didn't wonder what she would say when he spoke to her—he couldn't bring himself to entertain the possibilities. He had no idea what he would say. Everything he considered seemed awful. Clumsy. Humiliating.
Hello, Eiara–
No.
Hello, my Goddess.
And he should bow. Or should he kneel?
And then what?
I hear you've got your memories back. Do you still want me?
The mere thought made him cringe with shame.
And so he paced his rooms just as he had paced the bunker, finding little relief in the change of scenery.
At length, he began to berate himself.
What a coward he was! Would he avoid her forever? The longer he waited, the harder it would be to face her.
If he waited too long she would know he was a coward as well as he did.
Suddenly galvanized—driven by sheer desperation—Loklan left his rooms, cornered the first servant he saw, and demanded to know the whereabouts of the Goddess.
The young maid stuttered that the Lady had gone to the gardens, last she heard.
Steeling himself, Loklan wasted no time.
Five minutes later, walking along the path that edged the gardens, he saw sunlight glinting in deep, burnished hair.
His heart stopped. His feet did the same.
She was walking away from him, towards the very vine-choked arbor Queen Firra had favored for an afternoon read.
She wore a dress of soft, pale green, trimmed in deep bronze satin with little bits of gold embroidery. Her hair had been styled in a simple crown of braids and decorated with delicate golden flower pins. He'd never seen it up before. The lines of her bare neck and shoulders above the gown brought back rushes of memory that scalded his consciousness.
There were no bite marks on her. No little bruises where he'd sucked her flesh. No sign at all of what he'd done to her on that lonely moon.
Yet his body certainly remembered. The fever came back to him in such a rush that it stole his breath. He'd somehow managed to forget how intense it was.
But she was the Goddess now.
When she turned to sit, her gaze caught on him instantly. He stood a dozen paces away at the top of the stone steps leading down to the garden.
For just a moment, her eyes held only mild curiosity. Loklan realized with a pang that she didn't recognize him. It shouldn't have been a surprise. She’d only seen his Eladani form once before. But it wounded him, nonetheless.
Even as recognition blossomed in her eyes, Loklan's world tilted wildly on its axis once again.
Because he hardly recognized the woman staring back at him.
The features were the same: the copper skin, the green-brown eyes, the rich, blazing hair. Even her shape under the dress was clearly familiar.
But the woman looking out of that face was a person he had never met before.
If asked, he could not have described exactly what the difference was except to say that there was knowledge in that face. In the eyes. An awareness—a lack of innocence—that hadn't been there before. Indeed, there was a whole person in that look who had not been there before.
And that person didn't know him.
Oh, she remembered their time on the moon. The memory was vivid in her eyes. But those few short weeks had happened to someone else—not her.
This was what he'd been afraid of, he realized. Why he'd avoided her. Not because he feared rejection, though he did.
This was a hundred times worse than rejection.
Eiara—his Eiara—was gone. She'd existed only in the absence of this woman and her memories.
The woman watching him from beneath his mother's arbor was Lady Eiar. The Goddess.
And She did not love him.
***
Loklan returned to his rooms at a dignified stroll, undressed down to his trousers and undershirt, and then sunk into a thoughtless daze.
He was not sad—he would not grieve. There was nothing to grieve. What had he lost, anyway? The mirage of a woman. The caricature left behind after her whole life had been stripped away.
What was there to mourn?
This was as far as he thought on the subject, subsiding into his favorite cushioned chair before the fireplace in his room with a large glass of whiskey.
The burn of the liquor was a comfort. He would drink until he felt nothing, as was his wont.
It would be a relief not to think. Not to feel.
It was all that he could do to avoid the cracking, tearing pain in his chest.
He thought of Firra briefly. Perhaps because the pain he so adroitly avoided echoed very similarly the pain of her loss.
But he did not make this connection or any other.
He simply sat, and when the servants brought him dinner, he thanked them hollowly and sent them away. And then he sat some more while his dinner cooled and congealed, untouched on the low table before him.
The soft knock that came some time later did not disturb him. Reflexively, he called, "Yes," in an even, emotionless voice.
The door opened, presumably to admit the servants again, come to remove his uneaten dinner and fold back the bedding on his enormous four-poster bed for him.
But the rustle of fine silk skirts and the faint whiff of roses was all wrong. Servants did not wear silk, and they certainly didn't smell of his mother's roses.
He looked up.
"Hello," she said evenly, eyes both dark and strangely luminous in the low light.
Awakening slowly from his stupor, Loklan blinked up at the Goddess.
She'd taken the braid out of her hair and it hung in loose waves over her shoulders. She'd also traded the green dress for a long silk dressing gown in a shade of blue so dark it was nearly black. Her ivory satin nightgown peaked below the gold-embroidered hem.
Her face was calm, grave.
She said nothing. Loklan said nothing.
They simply looked at each other.
He wanted her to leave, and at the same time, he couldn't bear the thought of it.
Her gaze cataloged his face and then dipped to his throat, his body. Starting with the open neck of his shirt. Then his chest and legs.
There was no heat in that look. Her expression was impenetrable.
Then she came around the table and sank into the chair opposite him. "You haven't touched your dinner."
Soft, grave voice. Painfully familiar. Alien at the same time.
Now she looked at the tray before him, the plates of food, clean glass, and a full decanter of wine.
Loklan looked at it too, wondering why he didn't speak—why his voice had deserted him. And then he looked at her again, because he couldn't help himself.
The three days on Eladan had done her well, he noticed, taking in the details of her person in crisp and vibrant detail. Her face seemed a bit fuller. Skin brighter. He was willing to bet her ribs didn't show anymore either.
He had a flash of her sitting naked at the big table in the bunker and hastily shoved the thought away. The lust it inspired felt wrong somehow.
Loklan considered her steady gaze, the prim, aristocratic posture, the angle of her jaw, her shoulders.
Everything was the same—except the look. She'd never looked at him that way before: like she was seeing him for the first time, peeling him back in layers, trying to confirm some unknown suspicion about the exact shape and color of his character.
She hadn't looked at him that way before because she hadn't been the Goddess, he reminded himself. This woman—this beautiful, intelligent, soft-spoken, wildly arousing woman wearing nothing but her nightclothes and a pair of soft blue slippers—was an unwanted revelation.
"You're not Eiara," he said aloud, willing his body to acknowledge the fact. "Not the one I knew."
He sounded angry, though he hadn't realized that he was.
"Who am I then?" she replied, and though she said it calmly, there was a hint of something there: a ghost of vulnerability. Like she wasn't quite sure of the answer herself.
"Honored Goddess, Lady Eiar, High Priestess of Asatyru," he said, and then in a painfully flat voice, "Future High Queen of Eladan."
Her expression darkened just a little. Was that pain? Anger?
He couldn’t tell.
Eiar drew both feet up onto the chair and curled her arms around her knees, tucking the robe demurely about her ankles. The posture was painfully endearing to him, especially with her hair spilling over her shoulders in thick, glossy waves like that.
"Why didn't you come and talk to me?" she asked.
Loklan was still sprawled in his chair, legs wide, arms resting on the curved armrests. He lifted one arm from the elbow and turned his head to rub the bridge of his nose. Suddenly he was very tired.
"Because I knew what I would find," he sighed.
"Eiar, and not Eiara," she murmured.
Loklan didn't bother to confirm. He simply looked at her. What did you expect?
Her lips thinned again—not in disdain or even irritation—in acquiescence.
And a touch of disappointment.
"Why didn't you come and find me?" he returned, hating that his voice had gone husky.
"I did," she replied quietly, gaze wandering down his body again. This time there was memory in the look. Memory, and a hint of confused curiosity.
Like she was trying to marry the man in her memory to the man before her now.
"Don't look at me like that," he growled.
Her gaze snapped to his in surprise. "Like what?"
"Like you're thinking about—" he cut himself off, suddenly feeling that to speak of their time on that desert moon would corrupt it in some way. He wanted to leave those memories in the protective bubble where they'd happened.
Maybe someday he would be able to enjoy them.
"I just wanted to talk," she murmured.
"Talk then."
Her eyes held a wounded gleam. "I can see that this is hurting you. That's the last thing I want."
"Say what you have to say," he snapped hoarsely, tamping down a miserable surge of hope. "Just get on with it."
"This is all so strange," she whispered helplessly.
When he glared instead of responding, Eiar looked away.
I’m being awful, he thought. This is the Goddess herself! I ought to be on my knees, not glaring and making demands like a petulant prince!
But he couldn’t behave as her humble subject. He just couldn’t.
"I wanted to see you." She picked at the golden embroidery edging the cuff of her sleeve.
There was an apology there.
"But?" he prompted.
Her gaze remained downturned, shielded from him by long, heavy lashes.
"I also didn't."
He could relate to that, though it stung like hell to hear her say it.
"I had to think and...process." She did look at him then, gaze somber. "I couldn't reconcile myself with the person I was….before. I still can't."
Green-brown eyes pleaded with him for understanding, though the rest of her face remained composed, almost expressionless.
Loklan said nothing. He couldn't muster a word.
Finally, she went on again. "There were things I didn't know about myself—things you showed me—that I'm not sure—" she faltered, lips twisting a little. A tiny line appeared between her brows.
"What?" he rasped, in a voice that sounded as dry as the earth on their desert moon.
"I don't know," she whispered. "There's just so much to—you, and Otyris, and Prince Alistair, and—me." She pressed her lips together, hands rising to her face, fingers curling before her brow. Abruptly, she put them down again and her features crimped with frustration. "I'm not making sense, am I? Nothing makes sense now." Her voice quavered slightly—a hint of anguish and aggravation surfacing through the calm facade. "I'm not sure that I know myself anymore."
Well. Loklan certainly understood that feeling.
As Eiar put her fingers to her brow again, eyes glittering—not with tears, but with the possibility of them—he remembered the sense of unreality that had swamped him when he'd learned of his true parentage. The crippling confusion he'd experienced as everything he'd known about himself seemed to unravel from its very center.
He couldn't help her find herself again, but he could perhaps make things easier—at least concerning himself.
He could free her of whatever tie still bound them together. And there was a tie, he knew. She was here, after all. She'd come to him.
He could cut her loose. Or... he could refuse to let go. He could pursue Eiar in the absence of Eiara.
He could try to win the heart of the Goddess herself—no matter that he didn't deserve her, or that she was already engaged to the high king’s progeny.
Alistair would likely try to kill him again for touching her.
"Do you still want me?" he demanded in a low voice.
Her throat worked for a moment. "I don't know how to answer that."
"If you don't," he grated, "then say it."
"I can't," she whispered. "I don't know."
He glared, heart fisting angrily in his chest. “Shall I kneel in worship, then? Become your loyal subject? Shall we forget everything?”
Eiar sighed and muttered softly, "I never wanted worship. I would give up being the Goddess if I could.”
Loklan was stunned. Confused. She doesn’t want to be the Goddess?
“I'm two people, Loklan,” she went on, oblivious to his confusion. “One of them wants you, and the other doesn't even know you."
There, he thought dully with a tearing sensation in his chest, that’s the heart of it.
She put her head in her hands, elbows resting on her silk-covered knees. "I hate this."
Loklan watched those slender fingers dig into her hair—fingers that had caressed him in a hundred delicious ways.
"It'll pass," he heard himself say. "Eventually."
Eiar was silent for a long time, narrow shoulders stiff. She was crying, he realized. Her tears were utterly soundless.
They made Loklan feel like his skin was being stripped away in shreds.
Eiara, he would have held and kissed. The urge was still there. But he didn't know how to comfort the woman before him, and he doubted she would welcome his embrace.
"Will you return to Asatyru?"
She looked up, blinking at the abrupt question. But the answer was quick enough.
"No. I mean—I don't wish to."
There was a lot of emotion lurking behind those muted syllables—behind that inscrutable, tear-streaked face.
Anger, fear, determination.
Loss.
He wouldn't ask her what had happened on Asatyru. Not now. She didn't want to go back. And she was here, in his rooms. Wearing nothing but her night clothes.
“What about—” the name stuck in his throat. He forced it out. “–Alistair?”
Do you want him?
Her expression constricted with denial—with unmistakable repulsion. “He’s the reason I’m here now,” she whispered. “The reason I ended up on that moon. I tried to escape him.”
Something shifted in Loklan’s chest. Hope again, blossoming.
Tearing at him.
She doesn’t want Alistair.
That little weasel—what did he do to her?
But he can’t ask now. Eiara looks brittle—ready to crumble. She needs more time. They both do.
She didn’t want Loklan either, but at least she wasn’t running from him. That meant he had a chance. A chance at what, exactly, he didn’t know. She was the Goddess, after all. And he was still the Bastard Prince—a half-reptile abomination.
It wasn't just his family’s dirty secret anymore, either; all of Eladan knew. Or they would within the next few days.
Would that change her feelings toward him?
"I still want you," he said, surprising himself. The words came out raw and hoarse. He felt like he was standing on a precipice, toes dangling over open air.
"You don't know me," she replied gravely. “You said that yourself.”
It made him angry, for some reason.
"I know the truest, most uncluttered version of you," he snapped.
The words surprised them both—partially because he hadn't known he was going to say them, but mostly because… they were true.
Some unnamed, displaced piece clicked home inside Loklan as that truth sunk in.
There was a shift in Eiar, too. A thread of tension left her, slender shoulders dropping just a fraction. Those incredible, luminous eyes held steady on his, searching him. Flaying him to the bone.
At length, she said quietly, "I don't know if I can be that person again."
There was a long silence—the first that wasn't entirely uncomfortable. They looked at each other.
There was a ghost of his Eiara in that look.
"I'm not asking you to," he said.
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The Grand Tour: Unveiling the Elegance and Exhilaration of Vintage Racing
Ah, the allure of the bygone era. A time when gentlemen racers, clad in tweed jackets and cravats, wrestled with temperamental machines down dusty tracks. A time when the roar of an engine wasn’t just noise, it was a symphony composed of pistons and carburetors. This, my friends, is the world of vintage racing — a realm where elegance and exhilaration tango on a finely paved (or perhaps occasionally gravel) road.
But vintage racing is more than just a nostalgic trip down memory lane. It’s a vibrant community pulsating with the passion for meticulously restored automobiles and the thrill of pushing them to their limits (well, within reason — safety first, after all!). It’s about the camaraderie forged in the pits, the shared love for the finer points of internal combustion, and the sheer joy of witnessing automotive history come alive on the track.
A Canvas Painted with Chrome and Curves
Vintage race cars are rolling works of art. Gone are the sleek, aerodynamic blobs of modern Formula One. These beauties boast curvaceous fenders, glistening chrome accents, and grilles that seem to scowl with a hint of playful defiance. Each car tells a story — of groundbreaking engineering feats, daring design choices, and the triumphs and heartbreaks of legendary races. Imagine yourself piloting a Jaguar E-Type, its sleek lines a testament to aerodynamic innovation, or a fire-breathing Shelby Cobra, pure American muscle thrumming beneath the hood.
The Thrill of the Chase (Without Modern Safety Features, But We Don’t Talk About That)
Let’s be honest, the raw, unadulterated thrill of vintage racing is undeniable. These cars lack the mind-numbing acceleration and G-forces of their modern counterparts. Instead, they offer a more visceral, connected experience. You feel the engine working, the car responding (or not responding) to your every input. It’s a thrilling dance between man and machine, a test of skill and finesse on the open track.
Beyond the Finish Line: A World of History and Camaraderie
The vintage racing scene isn’ t just about chequered flags. It’s about immersing yourself in the rich tapestry of automotive history. Imagine yourself strolling through the paddock, each car a time capsule whispering tales of legendary drivers and epic races. You might find yourself rubbing shoulders with passionate collectors, mechanics with grease-stained hands and encyclopaedic knowledge, and fellow enthusiasts who share your love affair with all things vintage.
Tailoring Your Grand Tour: From Weekend Warrior to Bespoke Adventure
The beauty of vintage racing is its accessibility. Whether you’re a seasoned gearhead or a curious newcomer, there’s a way to get involved. Weekend club events offer a taste of the action, allowing you to test the waters (or should we say, tarmac?) behind the wheel of a classic car.
For those seeking a more immersive experience, companies like Pearl Lemon Classics curate bespoke tours that take you on a journey through the heart of vintage racing. Imagine yourself traversing the hallowed grounds of Goodwood Revival, the roar of vintage Ferraris and Maserati’s echoing through the air, or witnessing the spectacle of Le Mans Classic, a celebration of endurance racing’s golden age.
A World Waiting to be Explored
The world of vintage racing beckons. It’s an invitation to a bygone era, a chance to connect with the history of the automobile and experience the unadulterated joy of piloting a piece of automotive heritage. So, dust off your tweed jacket (or metaphorical equivalent), put on your most adventurous spirit, and embark on your own Grand Tour of vintage racing. You might just discover a hidden passion, forge lifelong friendships, and create memories that will leave you breathless, much like the snorting exhaust of a perfectly tuned vintage engine.
Ready to Shift Gears?
The world of vintage racing awaits. Delve deeper into this fascinating realm by exploring online forums and communities dedicated to classic automobiles and vintage racing events. There are countless resources available to help you navigate this exciting world, from event calendars to restoration tips and historical accounts of legendary races. Remember, the journey is just as important as the destination, so buckle up, embrace the spirit of adventure, and get ready to be enthralled by the elegance and exhilaration of vintage racing.
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J'ai publié 255 fois en 2022
64 billets créés (25%)
191 billets reblogués (75%)
Les blogs que j'ai le plus reblogués :
@lespetitestortuesdemer
@pilferingapples
@jesvisfarovche
@flo-nelja
@adorablecrab
J'ai étiqueté 172 billets en 2022
Seulement 33% de mes billets ne comportaient pas de tag
#my drawings - 44 billets
#les miserables - 25 billets
#enjolras - 13 billets
#grantaire - 11 billets
#wilwy's life - 10 billets
#bahorel - 9 billets
#feuilly - 9 billets
#stand still stay silent - 8 billets
#ssss - 7 billets
#jehan prouvaire - 7 billets
Longest Tag: 95 characters
#you just need to get friends to like your homemade blorbos and then you'll get free content !!!
Mes billets vedette en 2022 :
n°5
A little something for Logic & Philosophy Week ! It’s called “Love in the time of Tour Eiffel”. Because they totally got reincarnated and got to kiss on the Eiffel Tower when it was built, and it was really, really romantic.
On the other hands, the cartoony effect on the Tower is totally messed up, but I don’t car. They are happy and so am I
[image ID : Combeferre and Enjolras are standing on the first (or second) level of the Eiffel Tower. Combeferre, a black man with short black hair and grey eyes, is standing, cane in hand. He’s wearing a long, blue coat, a grey open waistcoat, grey pants, a red cravat and a black top hat. He’s laying a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras, a smaller, white man with long, curly blonde hair and blue eyes, is leaning on the railing. He’s wearing a long brown coat, a golden waistcoat, tan pants, a white cravat and a black top hat. He’s holding a cane in one hand. A leg of the Tower is visible on the left, and the next level is shadowed against the blue sky, above them. The weather is sunny, coloring the metal gold. End ID]
59 notes - publié le 28 octobre 2022
n°4
Following of this, because so many people were scared of letting Jehan, Feuilly and maybe Enjolras in the sun. But don’t worry, Joly is not going to let them roast, he’s READY !! And then I wanted to elaborate on that sketch because why not.
Featuring also a giant swimming pool because I just wanted to play with colors and have them be nice and happy in the water.
Not my fault if they used the same pan as the one used to cook the biggest paella in the world.
[image ID : les Amis (plus a few), drawn in a chibi style, are swimming in a large swimming pool that Joly, an asian man with brown hair, green summer clothes and a straw hat, is stirring with a large spoon, standing on a diving board. He’s startling Bossuet, a black man with blue eyes, while Gavroche, a white boy with brown hair and blue eyes, is planning on grabbing the spoon. On the left, Enjolras, a white man whose arms are poking out of a mass of blond hair, is scaring Courfeyrac, a brown-skinned man with brown-black curls so badly that his heart-shaped glasses are jumping. Grantaire, a tan man with curly black hair and tattoos, is laughing at them. Along the farthest edge, there’s an umbrella in the colors of the LGBT flag. Montparnasse (a white man with black hair and sunglasses) is under it, almost submerged in water. Jehan, a white man with freckles and mismatched eyes, is swimming near him, his long, copper braid trailing behind him. Bahorel, a muscular, tan man with long black hair, a beard and tattoos, wearing a blue swimsuit, is sitting in a duck float, leaning back. Beside him, Feuilly, a white man with freckles, copper curls, wearing a blue hat, is stuck in a white and red float and is napping. In the center, Cosette, a black woman with brown eyes and black and purple braids, is emptying a bucket on an unsuspecting Marius, a white man with freckles, blue eyes and black short hair. Eponine, a white woman with a pink, long, curly sidecut, is looking at them. Beside her, Combeferre, a tan man with a black sidecut, grey eyes and glasses, is leaning against the edge and reading a book. There’s a large pile of empty bottles of sunscreen beside the pool, and “Sunscreen” is written in paint on the side. In the first pic, the pool is full of white-yellow sunscreen. In the second, it’s full of water reflecting the blue sky. end ID]
61 notes - publié le 20 juin 2022
n°3
Finally finished the drawing for @acemisweek !! This has been inspired partly by @andersssandrew and partly by @endeavour12345. Thanks guys !!
Because "ace" is an umbrella term, get it get it ?
I tried to fit as many flags as I could there, but I may have forgotten some. Did you know that there are SO MANY flags ? There are so many.
... including the polish flag.
I've heard a bit of those since I've started IDing as ace. Lots of people still don't believe that "no attraction" is an orientation too. Well fuck them. It is, and I'll defend it with my last breath.
[image ID : Joly, Feuilly and Enjolras are huddling under an umbrella. Joly, an asian man with dark brown hair and green eyes, is looking up with an anxious expression, trying to see if it's raining. He's wearing a brown trenchcoat over a green shirt, brown pants and brown loafers, and a colorful scarf and fingerless gloves in the pattern of the 4th Doctor. He's holding a cane with a T. rex skull on it. The badges on his trenchcoat are a red "Les Amis de l'ABC" one and a polyamorous flag (blue, red and black). Feuilly, a white man with orange curls, golden eyes and a lot of freckles, is holding the umbrella and a cup of coffee. He's wearing a red and white hat, a white shirt, a denim jacket with a beige knit collar, jeans with an orange piece on the knee, and white Dr Martens. There's a black ring around his middle finger, and his badge is the demisexual flag (white, purple and grey with a black triangle). He's looking at Enjolras on the right. Enjolras, a white man with long, blond curls tied back, blue eyes and a few freckles, is standing victorious, raising his fist to the sky. He's wearing a red hoodie, black jeans rolled up and red converses. There's a black ring around his middle finger, and several bracelets around his wrists. He's wearing three badges : a red Les Amis one, a pride flag one (rainbow plus the black, brown, turquoise and pink stripes) and one with the sex repulsed ace flag (half purple, half black with a white stripe). The umbrella above them has the colors of the ace flag (purple, white, grey and white) and several small round flags are hanging from it : aro (two greens, white, grey and black), demisexual (purple, pink, white), demiromantic (white, green and grey with a black triangle), greysexual (green, grey and white) and aroace (orange, yellow, white and blue). From the sky are falling several phrases : "How do you connect ?", "But you need sex !", "You just haven't met the right one yet", "Are you a prude ?", "What a waste !", "Selfish", "You could make an effort", "You should at least try", "so you're just roommates ?", "You're frigid", "Have you been sexually assaulted ?", "they will cheat on you", "you will die alone" and "Childish". It looks like rain. end ID]
82 notes - publié le 18 février 2022
n°2
Happy birthday, @andersssandrew !!! Have some cuddling dorks !
They deserve it, after all.
[image ID : Emil and Lalli are cuddling in a one person bed. Emil, a white man with blond, shoulder-length hair, is wrapping his arms around Lalli, a skinny, white man with short-ish ashen hair. Lalli's arms are spread before him. Kitty, a white, brown and black cat, is lying in the crook of Lalli's body. Both men are facing the same direction. They are half-covered with a checkered plaid. The room is dark-ish, strewn with their clothing, and with wood-pannelling. The light is coming from a window above their heads, and spreading on the quilt. Everything is in yellow or brown hues. end ID]
84 notes - publié le 28 janvier 2022
Mon billet n°1 en 2022
Do you hear the people sing ?
Singing the song of full buckets !
It is the music of the people who will have so much sand everywhere... ♫
This year’s theme has been inspired by the ever-wonderful @paon-de-jour who always has my back (and the rest) ♥.
This was SO easy to do ! (sarcasm). Twelve days for the sketch, and then, and then.... Not to mention scanning the thing and then correcting the cut parts because the scanner apparently hates crabs and pride umbrellas.
Can you spot all the things I had to correct with the white gel pen and a pair of scissors ? Because I sure can, but I’ll never tell.
HAPPY BARRICADE DAY WHERE EVERYONE IS HAPPY AND NO ONE IS DEAD !
EDIT : can you believe I forgot to add Courf in the image ID ? TT.TT I’m sorry !! so here is the new version with it ! Thanks @despisydraws for catching it !
Here is the progress gif !
Voir l'intégralité du billet
138 notes - publié le 5 juin 2022
Obtenez votre année 2022 en revue sur Tumblr →
#tumblr2022#année en revue#mon année tumblr 2022 en revue#votre année tumblr en revue#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review
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Prince Hans x Servant/Maid!Reader || Drabble
Plot: Hans likes to purposely trash his bedroom so you have to clean it and cant leave until its done.
Warnings: Sexual tension and smuttiness. Hans being an aristocratic douche.
Looking around the room, boom in one hand and bucket full of hot, soapy water and rags tugging down the other arm, you can just think... that utter bastard.
Prince Hans' bedroom is a total pigsty, which is not out of character for him as he likes to make life hard for you in a multitude of different ways, including this one, but still very much frustrates you- every time. There are socks and cravats tangled up in his bedsheets, which are all kicked down to the bottom of the mattress, a quick headcount tells you that there are well over 15 cups and plates littered about, some of which are on their side of upside down leaving a sticky trail all over the desk and the little tea table and also the ones by his bed, his muddy boots are strewn all over the ground leaving muddy tracks that probably contain cow shit, too, and hay from the stables as well, and to top it all off he piled the fireplace far too high with wood and now ash is all over the floor for feet in front of its bounds.
For a good moment you don't dare move, you just stand there glaring at the room, wondering how bad selling yourself to a brothel could really be compared to this cruel and unusual torture, clenching your hands so tight they almost make a noise. This smug fuck- No, I don't care that he's a prince-
As if rubbing salt into the wound, said smug fuck prances past you and to the only neat spot in the bedroom - the window seat, - , picks up a book, a quill, and map and gets comfortable. Smirking, he dips the quill carefully for a good moment into the ink pot he has already left on the windowsill beside him, not looking at you though you know his entire attention is on you; Causing frustrated, disgusted shivers to race up your spine as you casually straighten up. "Well, you better get to it Y/N. This place is a wreck."
He says that as if its somehow my fault! Eye twitching, you only just glare murderously at his downturned, flaming red head before going to the complete other side of the room, turning your back on him so as to potentially, hopefully, forget he's there, and frustrated get started.
To begin with, you collect the trays that other servants have brought in his meals on and stack them, before balancing those carefully on one hand and going around picking up the plates, cups, butter dishes and cutlery. You manage to fit most of it safely on there and go for the door to carry it all back to the kitchen to get it out of the way; Prepared to offer your deepest apologies to the kitchen staff that need to wash all this. And Hans is a picky fucking eater, too, so theirs plenty left over that someone will have to soak and scrape off into the garbage. The unfortunate prick.
Just as you're touching your free hand to the door handle though, a scuffle can be heard behind you and you feel Hans walk over close behind you. A hand finds your waist gently and his voice is low when he speaks. "Where do you think you're going?"
To find something for long, and very sharp, to shove up your- "Just to return all this to the kitchens, your highness."
A dark chuckle prickles your bare neck, hair tied up gracefully in order to keep it out of your face while you work and look tidy as you can, for your 'employers'. "No, you're not." What does he mean I'm 'not', yes I am- " Hans leans passed you, front pressing into your back, and pushes open the door that you unlocked. "Lisa!"
Your stomach drops when he calls out her name down the hall, a look of apology and pity already taking hold on your features as the timid maid comes rushing from around a corner, responding to your princes summons. "Y-you called, your highness?" Her eyes are wide and naïve, looking mostly past you to Hans but flickering to you like she cant help it, like she wants to say hello but knows its inappropriate in front of Hans. You flash her a kind smile, even as your stomach fills up with acid at being in this situation. It just feels wrong, handing on work to someone else. You're on the same level, and yet just because Hans has some sick obsession with you, you're forced into inadvertently acting like you're better then her. You realise that maybe she doesn't see it that way, but it feels like it. And it feels disgusting.
"As a matter a fact." Hans says in an almost sickly soft tone in way of admittance, almost acting nice, before taking the heavy trays from you and dropping them a little too hazardously in Lisa's arms. "Here," Eyes widening, you step forward and away from him far enough to help her balance them, telling her to put her hands like this, and keep it close to your chest okay? It'll take the pressure off your wrists.
Lisa's eyes flicker from the trays to you, a thankful light turning on behind them, as she gets them balanced.
Then Hans curls some fingers between the bow tying your apron around your waist and your clothing, and drags you carefully back. You roll your eyes, beyond annoyed by this gesture as heat boils in your chest and lower belly as you fight not to groan. Why did he have to touch you. You shouldn't enjoy it, but you do. It would be a lot easier for you if he would just stop. " -Take those to the kitchen to get cleaned, thanks."
Then, with those arrogant words, the Prince assumedly - since you aren't facing him, - flashes one of his famous, soulless grins, and closes the door in her face before you even have to time to waive. Bye.
Whipping around on him immediately, your eyes flash in anger. "I could've done that."
He shrugs. "I know, but I need you here." Suddenly he comes forward, pressing a hand to the wall by your head and leaning his face in close to yours- a mean, evil smirk on his handsome face. "I prefer you, to be here. You know that."
Desperately then, you wanted to say something. To snap at him. Tell him what you prefer. You even start to, a dangerously disrespectful tone present in your voice. "I prefer... " But choke up. You cant say a ting to him. He likes it too much, and you can tell by the way his lips curl up even more cruelly then before, when you uttered those first two words. And you just cant bare to please the smug, arrogant dick anymore then you already must, so you snap your mouth closed again, and take in a deep breath through your nose; Glaring straight into his face as you do. In your head at least you're screaming fuck you. "I prefer... to do my own work."
He opens his mouth to talk, but you cut him off, and take at least a little pleasure from that. "But if you wish for me to stay here, I will." I don't have a choice.
His lips pull back into a smirk. "Well, I think you should do the bed next. That's what I wish, now."
"Yes your highness."
Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, you think slipping away from him and going maybe a little too slowly towards the bed. This is always where things go south. You can already feel yourself throbbing.
First you need to strip it, you tell yourself. Come on, you know how to make a bed. This should be easy for you. Don't pay attention to Hans.
And you would just love to follow those instructions. Get the bed done without looking at him, or talking to him if at all possible, finish the rest of the room and go home with nothing new on your conscience- it would be refreshing. But its hard to do that when he touches you.
As soon as you return to a regular position from leaning down to gather up all the socks and cravats from the sheets, Hans is upon you. Hans agonisingly on your hips rather then wrapped around you, and you hate that you hate him for not touching you more. God, what you would give to hit him.
Sighing, you drop the armful of accessories to the floor go to continue your job, boldly twisting your hips as to shake his hands off and heading to the other side of the bed, tugging the sheets all the way off before plucking the pillows off onto the same pile as well.
Ignoring Hans watching you with that twisted, amused grin - he likes it when you 'play' like he doesn't bother you as much you affect him, - , you move to the closet and open the doors wide before gathering the extra, clean bedding inside and setting it down on the chest at the end of the bed. You're just going through them, figuring out what's what, when Hans finds his way over to you again. This time he sets himself down on the chest beside the bedding and smooths a hand down from your waist, over your hip, to your thigh. When his thumb starts to inch inward, you pick up his middle finger and pick his hand away from you, escaping around the bed again with the first layer sheet. Acting like he's nothing but an irritating little bug, even when his touches leave a fire behind on your skin.
You throw the sheet out across the bed, and you both watch it float down to the mattress. As soon as it touches down though, your moment of reprieve is over, as Hans hops up and follows you again, catching you this time. His arm encircles your waist, tugging your body back against him and you sigh. Fuck, you think, as a realisation hits you at being pressed to him.
He's hard.
Still, though, you do your work; Bending forward to neaten out the sheet without a lazy expression on face. But when you stand up straight once again, Hans arm gets stiffer and a gloved hand takes hold of your chin, turning you to face him. Him and his stupid pretty eyes, and soft auburn hair, and kissable mouth. Your eyes flicker down to that part of his face before you can stop yourself; Having been too wrapped up in your game.
"Y/N... " Eyes flashing up to his eyes as his genuinely annoying voice clears through the air, and your eyes narrow. His face is serious, and theirs a dark glint in his eyes. "Game over."
Immediately you rip your face out of his grip and face the bed again, going to straighten it out some more and avoid your ruin - his conquest, - but theirs nothing to do unless you can get out of his arms and that's not going to happen; Either by him not letting go or you not being able to make yourself fight against him. Probably, a combination.
"I'm not playing any games with you, your highness, you asked me to make your bed and I'm doing tha- " While you were talking, he had twisted his hips and rolled his hard manhood into your ass; Causing your eyes to widen and a gasp to slip out of you as your groin starts to get hotter.
Then he does it; He chuckles. In that frustrating, evil, mean, annoying way you hate and its over. You grit your teeth, trying for just a moment to gather your dignity and your wits, but its futile as your heart's beating so loudly you can hear it in your ears and you whirl around, catching sight of that hot smirk that shows his canines just before you dig your fingers angrily into the material covering his chest and drag him down- Connecting your lips and your tongue in a messy, wanting to kiss that drives you even madder. You tilt your head as to have more of him, and guide him back towards his bed, opening your legs for him to climb between them when you're laid out below him.
The way he rocks down and grinds his hips into yours drives you insane; An unfortunate type of magic that only you're privy to. Hans lets go of your lips with one last suck to your bottom one, enjoying everything you have for him, before slowing down his thrusts and rearing back above you just to watch how the change in pace tortures you below. You glare at him hatefully as she does this, even as your face is hotter then lava and he can absolutely tell how much you want him, because you cant help it. Because you hate his guts, and he needs to know that. Even as he fucks you.
He looks like he wants to say something this time, where he hasn't said a damn thing the last consecutive times you've done this together. For a whole moment he looks like he's fighting himself to tell you something, his grinds against you getting pathetic as he cares not to keep you happy as he thinks... before he growls, shakes his head and straightens up in order to unbuckle his own belt as you grit your teeth and do away with your own bottoms.
Maybe he'll tell you next time, he thinks. Maybe.
For now he'll just have what's his.
#Prince Hans x Reader#Disney Prince Hans x Reader#Prince Hans x Reader Drabble#Disney Prince Hans x Reader Drabble#Drabble#Prince Hans#Disney Prince Hans#Disney Villains x Reader#Disney Villains#Disney Villan#Disney Villain x Reader#Disney Villain x Reader Drabble
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Relax: Delete Scenes
A/N: here are some deleted snippets from the bath scene in relax (a work in progress). with the chapter 4 on it’s way i wanted to include the foreshadowing of events that were supposed to be revealed in chapter 1. originally reader was going to take a bath with silco but i changed it mid way due to time constraints and rustiness in my writing.
Silco lets you take the lead. First his overcoat, then vest. You loosen his cravat, allowing your fingers to stray underneath his dress shirt running the slope and valley of his collar bone. He looks so delicate.
A thin smile graces his features and despite his better judgement, he says, "If you stall too long the water will run cold." His suspicions come to fruition as his skin is left cold from your retreating hands, already missing your touch.
--
"May I come in?" You don't wait for his answer, slipping your fingers under the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your belly and head. He stares for a moment, a little dumbfounded.
You restate your question and he forces himself to look up at your eyes. He wants to say something sardonic but finding it surprisingly hard to come up with anything with you looking like a dream he might have once had. "I'm wouldn't oppose your company."
You let out a small laugh and something flutters in his chest.
--
Steam fogs the whole room, suffocating him. That's what he tells himself. It's the steam, the thick heat of the bath that's making it hard to breathe. It couldn't have anything to do with fact that your bare skin was relaxing against his chest and he can feel the soft flesh of your lower half brushing against his cock.
--
Lathering the sponge once more you continue your cleaning and study of him. More signs of aging appeared in the softening around his middle, though his arms and shoulders were still lean in muscle. His body was a tapestry of scars, each promising a story of heroism, bad luck, or young stupidity; some of them a combination of all three. You reach out, resting your fingertips on one visible scar; a puncture wound at the base of his ribs. "I remember that one," He reclines back, deciding this is relaxing after all. "You always were a careless person."
"Maybe so," You say with a shit eating grin. "but you were an enabler."
#i should have added that last one to the fic#i still could#it's such a good set up for chekhov's gun#at the time i didn't fully know where i wanted the story to go but now i do.#silco#silco x reader#xian#My writing
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The Moments of Their Deaths
Note: Day 4 (In-laws) of @lifeofkaze’s Valentine’s Day Challenge. Also featuring discussions of death.
Summary: “They loved me dearly until the day they died.” Or, Charlotte Bridgerton learns why Rupert Townshend never mentions his parents.
Setting: Westin Ball, Westin House, London, 1846
Charlotte Bridgerton caught the smudge of red belonging to Rupert Townshend’s cravat, and lengthened her stride to maneuver through the crush of people in the ballroom. She easily caught up to him, as she noted that he still stuck out like a sore thumb. She doubted that he would ever be able to shake off the fact that he had not grown up in this world.
“Miss Bridgerton!” Rupert exclaimed, bowing slightly.
“Lord Crofton,” Charlotte replied, returning his bow.
“Might we, perhaps, take this conversation outside?” Rupert ran a finger between his neck and cravat, and she watched, mesmerized, as the muscles in his neck moved. She’d been fascinated by his muscles ever since she’d seen him working in his stables while she’d been on an early morning ride.
“Certainly.”
She took his proffered arm, and together they made their way out of the warm, and crowded, ballroom into the cool gardens. Charlotte smiled softly at the thought of being alone with Rupert (and when had he become Rupert instead of Crofton?), as they stood quietly admiring the gardens in the soft lantern light.
“You never talk about your parents,” Charlotte observed. “Why is that? Did you have a falling out?”
Rupert tensed and Charlotte swore in her head. She had a frustrating habit of speaking before thinking.
“I don’t mean to offend or pry. I tend to forget to hold my tongue,” she added.
Rupert let out a slow breath. “It’s not a problem. My father was a schoolteacher and my mother, a seamstress. They loved me dearly until the day they died,” he replied.
“How did they die? If you don’t find this offensive.”
He let out another slow breath. “My mother had influenza. My father drowned.”
“Rupert…” His eyes widened at the use of his Christian name. It wasn’t done, and thankfully no one was around to hear this breach of propriety.
“They died within hours of one another. I was fifteen, and it was February of 1835.” His voice had grown monotone, and Charlotte tightened her grip on his arm. “My mother had contracted influenza, and as she was dying, my father and I had gone to fetch the doctor in the neighboring town. We were riding along the river, which never fully froze over that year, when my father heard terrified shouts. The Smith girl, all of seven years old, was standing on the bank, screaming for help. Her younger brother, barely three, had crawled out onto the ice and it had broken under his weight, sending him plunging into the icy water.”
He stopped talking, and took a deep breath in. Charlotte, still completely captivated, slid her hand off his arm and turned to face him. The lantern light reflected off the trace of tears in his eyes. She reached over and wrapped her hands tightly around his.
“My father was a great man. He was always willing to help anyone who needed it. So, of course, he wanted to help the Smith children. He pulled off his great coat, sweater, and all of his valuables. He handed them to me and dove into the river. He got the boy out, but the river was too strong and cold. A crowd had gathered by then, and some of them jumped in to find him. It was too late. He had drowned. A few hours later, my mother succumbed to influenza. I cannot recall if she even knew that he had passed.”
As he finished speaking, propriety was thrown out the window as Charlotte threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug. It was a hug for the boy who had lost both his parents, and for the man he had become, who was standing in front of her, sharing such a personal tragedy. To lose one parents’ so quickly, and in such terrible manners, couldn’t have been easy. Charlotte could hardly imagine it, and to think that her own father hadn’t been much older than Rupert had been when her grandfather had died.
#charlotte bridgerton x rupert townshend#charlotte bridgerton#rupert townshend#valentine challenge 2022#bridgerton next gen#bridgerton#my writing#my aesthetic#this would definitely take place after they’ve known each other a few weeks#i absolutely love that first sentence#this came about because i read a post about daddy issues and it occurred to me that very few of my kiddos have daddy issues#i don’t really do bad parents… i kill their parents instead for parental angst#bad parents are with my hp kiddos more than the bridgerton next gen#even within hp… bad guardians are rarely their parents
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regrets | chapter eleven
prev. chapter | next chapter
pairing: levi ackerman x reader
themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut
tw: violence / explicit sexual content
word count: 1913
Ten feet. That's how far you had walked today without stopping to rest. Hange was practically jumping up and down, and Jean hugged you more tightly than he ever had before. For the first time in weeks, you started to feel a little less helpless. On the way back to the infirmary room, you held on to Jean's arm and limped back rather than being carried. It made you feel strong. Today was a happy day, which you had decided for yourself when you woke up, warm and cozy as you could possibly be under the thin white blanket that adorned the soft mattress. You felt refreshed; ready to work on your leg that morning, ready to see Jean, ready to make more progress. In the furthest part of your brain, you were also ready to see Levi that night. He was gone already when you woke up, like every other day, but that had never bothered you. The thought of good-morning small talk with Levi was awkward at best.
Now, you sat across from Jean with a hand of cards. You thumbed through them for what felt like the tenth time as Jean took his sweet time on his turn. He finally laid down a card, only for you to play one of the moves you'd thought out over the last five minutes as soon as he did. As the cycle started again, you found yourself looking out the window. The sun was almost ready to begin sinking, the blue of the sky becoming duller by the minute. You greedily awaited the purples and pinks that meant teatime. Throughout the day, the quietly nagging piece of your mind that wanted to see Levi grew bigger and bigger, until you finally had to admit to yourself that you were excited for it. You decided it was half because the tea was good, partially because he was good company, and a little bit because your hand still tingled when you thought of him.
Jean's turns got painstakingly longer as the game went on, so much so that you thought he was doing it deliberately. Your impatience grew as the sky turned orange, and Jean put the cards away. When he left, the sun touched the horizon.
The brevity of your alone time was unexpected yet welcome; the thoughts that possessed your brain while you sat in that room were hardly ever pleasant. You decided you were grateful that you didn't have your own bedroom -- the presence of company had become necessary in recent weeks. In that brief alone time, however, your mind did not hesitate to race. You recounted the events of the day before: Eren's anger, Levi's affection. For someone confined to a room, the past few weeks had surely been interesting.
You wondered about how it felt when he had touched you; you had many theories, but the leading one was that Levi put some sort of numbing solution on his hand to mess with you. Sure, it was out of character for him, but it was also out of character for you to do anything but dislike him. That was the theory you intended to stick beside.
Every time you heard the tiniest sound, your eyes shot to the door. Each time, you were met with disappointment. You looked around the room absentmindedly, eyes landing on the table that held only a glass of water. You leaned up as far as you could and grabbed it on two sides, sliding it between the chair and your bed. You felt accomplished when you laid back down, resting your hands on your stomach and focusing your eyes on the ceiling. You tried to push the thoughts of yesterday as far out of your mind as you could, but it was difficult. When the orange of the sky finally moved to pink, the door opened. There was Levi, as always, carrying along his tea set.
"Hey, Levi," you greeted him, a welcoming smile finding its way to the corners of your mouth. He nodded his head back to you as he sat down, his dark hair falling slightly forward as he leaned to pour his tea. For the first time, you studied the man sat in front of you. His lips were formed into a slight frown, more often than not. Though he was looking at his teacup, you knew his grey eyes looked focused, his thin eyebrows perpetually drawn down. You followed the slope of his nose with your eyes. His features were graceful yet sharp, all fitting cleanly together. The ends of his hair fell fell haphazardly along his cheekbones and ears, perhaps the one thing about him that wasn't perfectly neat.
"Why are you staring at me?" he asked when he looked up, sending blood rushing to your cheeks.
"I've been looking at this room for three weeks. There's nothing new about it. People look a little bit different every day," you answered him, your face hot. You pulled your eyes away from him in search of literally anything else to look at, finally focusing on your own folded hands.
"You're a pretty good liar, you know."
The two of you sat there chatting for at least an hour before you were interrupted by a knock at the door. Levi looked at you expectantly, and you told them to come in. It was a scout you didn't recognize, relatively tall, with shaggy brown hair that fell across his forehead. He only came in about a foot, then saluted. "Captain, the Commander needs to speak with you. He'd like you to come to his office as soon as possible," he said.
Levi nodded at him in dismissal, and the boy left as quickly as he had arrived. "I shouldn't be long. I'll be back soon," he told you as he stood. He followed the boy out the door and left you to the candlelit room all alone.
---
After two hours, you had long understood that Levi was a good liar, too.
It was now pitch black outside, the candle failing to provide much light. Sleep was fighting you tooth and nail as you shifted around the bed, attempting to find even one comfortable place. Your eyes were begging to shut, but your body wouldn't allow it. You continued like this for another half hour before your mind finally found rest, closer to passing out than comfortably drifting.
When Levi finally returned, the tea was cold. He was quiet as could be, careful not to wake you as he sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair; your position was less than peaceful, he noticed, your body more sprawled out than curled up and your hair in a tangled mess. Your eyebrows were drawn in tightly, your face displaying blatant discomfort. When he looked away, his eyes were pulled right back by a sound escaping your lips. It was soft, yet distressed. He wondered if he should wake you.
You started to toss and turn, your little gasps and groans growing more frequent and closer together. His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward. He tried to make out words, only deciphering the occasional "help" and "mom." Admittedly, it struck his curiosity. He sat and watched you for a moment more before rising from his seat and laying his hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently. "Hey, wake up," he said, trying to sound soft, but really only getting his typical tone across. He called your name, which tasted sweeter than it should have, twice before you finally roused awake.
You sat straight up, practically throwing his hand from your shoulder as you drew in shallow breaths. Your eyes darted around the room, vision a bit blurry, and you jumped when you saw Levi at your side. You were disoriented at best, not taking the time to speak. You noticed the tears brimming in your eyes after a moment, and immediately lifted your hands to wipe them.
"You were having a nightmare, I think. I'm sorry I took so long," Levi finally spoke up, not moving from your immediate bedside.
You cleared your throat, knowing sleep would still be present in your voice, before you replied. You looked over at him, his typical concerned expression more prominent than usual. "It's okay. It isn't your fault," you told him, laying your head in your hands. You felt vulnerable, and you didn't like it. Part of you wished Jean was here to snore loudly while you woke up in tears, not requiring you to interact with anyone.
"Are you okay?" he asked you. You noticed his hand twitch forward and then return to his side -- was he going to reach for you? You found yourself hoping he would.
"I'm . . ." you started, not really knowing how to finish your sentence. You tugged at a tangle in your hair. "Used to it, I guess. Not okay, not terrible. Just indifferent." You figured it summed up your emotions enough. Sleep had started to nag at your eyelids again, likely knowing it would be refreshing rather than restless now that you were no longer alone.
You laid your head back down and looked over at Levi, waiting for him to either reply or sit back down. He did neither; he stood there, studying your face as you had studied his only hours before. He didn't answer until his eyes finally met yours. "Do you need anything? At all?"
The look in his eyes was confusing, one you had never seen before. It was soft, almost endearing. Your voice answered him before your brain permitted it, and you regretted it as soon as it left your lips. "Would you lay with me?" You cursed your mouth and nearly vowed to never open it again. You felt yourself blushing, so much so that you wanted to turn over and bury your face in your pillow to never be seen again.
He wasn't embarrassed, though. His eyes widened a fraction for only a moment before he nodded, then sat on the edge of your bed and unlaced his boots. He pulled them off slowly and set them under the wooden frame, then stood and took off his jacket. He pulled his cravat from his neck swiftly and laid both over the back of the chair. He unbuttoned his shirt quickly, leaving only the gray shirt he wore beneath it. It joined the rest of his clothes on the chair. You moved away from the middle of the bed, allowing him plenty of room.
He didn't use it. He lifted the blanket and climbed in close to you, sliding his arm underneath your shoulders and gently guiding your head to his chest with his hand. Your heart had built up so much pressure you were sure it would explode out of your chest and leave the both of you a bloody mess. You adjusted yourself, shifting to face him and allowing your arm to drape over his stomach. You avoided looking up at him at all costs, but you could feel his eyes burning into the top of your head. This was the strangest, most foreign thing you had ever felt. The most off-center part was that you were entirely comfortable, your body more than relaxed despite your chest's unrelenting tightening.
"I --" you began, unsure of exactly what you were going to say. It didn't matter, because he was quick to interrupt you.
"Hush," he whispered. "Get some sleep."
#AoT#aot fic#aot x reader#aot fanfiction#levi attack on titan#levi x reader#levi ackerman#levi aot#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#snk#snk x reader#enemies to lovers#slowburn
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Typically
This makes many references to No Regrets (an insight on Levi before he enrolled in the Scouts.) I also tried a new writing style, so please, give me feedback!
includes: Erwin, Levi
warnings: alcoholic themes, depression, PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), mentions of suicidal thoughts/actions
length: 2,028 words
•°•°•°•
Erwin Smith was typically content in his mattress by 10:30, praying to whatever gods that may (or may not) be out there that his slumber would be blissful and refreshing. He typically knew of his subordinates' locations and their relative mental states this late into any given night. He typically had most of his paperwork signed and stacked into a neat, organized pile.
Though tonight, as trepidation rolled over him in slow, progressing waves, Erwin Smith was neither content nor situated in a well-put-together office. He did not know where the Captain was or when the elusive man would return. He did not know beforehand that multiple contracts would need the Captain's signature. Hell, Erwin did not know if Levi could even write in cursive. At the moment, he did not know a lot of things.
Erwin wasn't exactly enthusiastic about experiencing these feelings of troubling uncertainty.
The dense thud of staggering boots on the half-rotted wooden flooring impeded Erwin's vexing thoughts. Moving from his spot by the window that overlooked the training grounds, he hastily stalked towards his office door. Yet as his fingertips were mere inches from the handle, the door slammed open, catching the Commander off guard.
Erwin back-stepped as no one other than Levi himself lost his footing from kicking the door open. The door frame was the only thing that aided Levi's attempt at steadying his balance; Erwin was far too focused on darting his bewildered eyes over Levi's condition.
Was the blunt and foul-mouthed Levi Ackerman. . . Drunk?
No, that couldn't be right. The man despised everything about alcohol: the lasting effects, the heavy smell, the noxious health problems. Every time the Corps tried to get Levi to drink, he had remarked about booze being nothing more than poison marketed as a miracle tonic. But, what else could explain the unfocused eyes that were typically sharp and observant or the swaying small frame that was typically nimble and composed?
"Have you been drinking, Levi? You look terrible."
The vicious scowl Erwin received told him that the way he worded his concern was extremely misinterpreted.
"Oh, fuck you, jackass. Not everyone can look like a shining star, Smith." Levi's words were unnaturally slurred, further proving what Erwin refused to accept. "Get outta my way and let me in."
Erwin cautiously stepped to the side- as he'd rather keep this peculiar sight to himself and spare the Captain's dignity. Levi's shoulder shoved against Erwin's bicep as he stumbled into the Commander's office. A snarl remarking Erwin's height was woven into the tense atmosphere of the room.
"Where have you been?" Erwin asked as he gently shut the door, keeping an apprehensive gaze on Levi.
He simply received a distracted scoff. Erwin took a deep breath before he huffed out of his nose. He watched as Levi fumbled through various unlocked drawers in search of who-knows-what.
"Levi-"
"Where's your Devil's water, Smith?" Erwin narrowed his eyes in confusion before Levi, belligerently, elaborated. "Your liquor, dip-shit. Where have you stashed it?"
Erwin pressed his lips into a thin line before he offered a calculated answer, "I don't hide alcohol in my office."
A spiteful string of obscenities left Levi's swollen lips, the drunk balling his fist tight by his sides. "Liar! You're a filthy deceiver, you know that? You're worth less than the shit in the stables! A sleaze bag from the Underground would be more helpful than you!"
Erwin paused, studying Levi like Hange would study a Titan. "Are you okay, Levi?" He knew the question was redundant the moment the words left his lips.
“Fuck!” Levi yelled, tugging on his already loose cravat. “Am I okay? What kind of bullshit question is that? Hell, my uncle used to tell me that life’s like a toilet paper roll; you’re either on a roll or taking shit from some asshole- and you know what? You’re that asshole, Smith!”
"Be careful of the open window, Levi," Erwin warned, as polished and unwavering as ever. His indifference to the slew of insults and profanities made Levi's blood boil.
Erwin only moved closer when the Captain disregarded his warning and continued to near the dangerously open casement. Erwin tuned out the vulgarities that were continuously hurled at him with an intense enmity, the gears clicking together in his head.
There was a chance Levi's destination was through the window- a chance Erwin was not willing to take.
"What are you doing? You're going to fall out," Erwin said more forcefully.
The change in the Commander's tone didn't seem to phase Levi, who was resting his forearms on the window sill. As Levi's weight shifted to his unstable upper body, Erwin could feel his heartbeat pounding in his throat, temples, fingertips- everywhere except his chest.
Levi went quiet, his drunken tantrum utterly forgotten as childlike wonder filled his eyes. In the moment of calm after the storm, Erwin couldn't fail to notice that Levi looked so much younger when he wasn't so pent up. The Captain was significantly more demonstrative when he was intoxicated; and may it be good or bad, Erwin was content with Levi seeming mortal.
"He used to hate heights, and she smoked him for it," Levi broke the moment of silence with hardly a whisper. "It was all a game to her."
Erwin's features, which were glazed over with faux insouciant, didn't match the curious gaze he studied Levi with. He stood inert, fearful of scaring Levi into a diligent silence or another aggressive episode. Erwin didn't ask for extensive details, nor did he implore Levi to move away from the window again. He simply waited, having an idea of what was plaguing his inebriated soldier's mind.
"You know, when you found me, we were heading to get a job done," Levi spoke so softly that Erwin felt the need to hold his breath to hear him properly.
The Commander took Levi's brief pause as an opening to speak, despite having nothing to say. "Is that so?"
Levi exhaled something grim; something that nearly sounded like an empty chuckle. "Yeah, Smith, it is."
Levi ignored how Erwin wearily moved closer as he adjusted himself further out of the window. The Captain relished in a twisted feeling of pride knowing that he could make his superior jump to aid him, that he could make the man twitch with such a deep sense of uneasiness- so much so that it shone in his perceptive blue eyes.
"Levi, get away from-"
"He was so nervous for the mission, despite it being so. . . " Levi swayed his hand through the night air, searching for the right word after cutting Erwin, and his concerns, off. "So pointless," is what he settled for.
"It was just a run-through," he huffed out a sigh, "check the brothel for any kids, start trouble if there were. Then, haul ass to the surface to get the brats to somewhere safer. Simple, right?"
Erwin swallowed, his gaze settling on Levi's reflection in the mirror.
"But, something always has to fuck me over," Levi spat with a clenched jaw, capturing the window sill in an iron grip. "Isn't that right?! You simply adore dancing all of your puppets around until they can't take it anymore- but you don't stop, do you?!" Levi screamed at the full moon in the sky.
Erwin sharply exhaled through his nose, Levi swaying side to side like empty ODM gear in the breeze. Levi swore and stretched his fingers out to relieve the tension in them.
"I bumped into a guy whose ego was as big as his body. The bastard was huge and wouldn't let it go." Levi hung his head, the stars bringing back memories he'd rather forget. "I think you were there when we had settled the issue and took off."
Erwin remembers like it happened yesterday. He could never forget the first time he saw Levi fly on the Wings of Revolution; it was enchanting.
Levi outstretched his arm, one foot leaving the floor as he reached to the giant moon glowing against the night sky.
"Levi, you need to stop being heedless, or you'll fall and end up dead!" Erwin finally snapped, his hand darting to grab Levi's. He missed his target, the shorter one moving unexpectedly and making Erwin snatch his pale forearm.
The wind from the chill night ruffled the forgotten paperwork on Erwin's desk, Levi's eerily hollow chuckle overlaying the white noise. Empty steel-gray finally looked into Erwin's ocean blues, heavy-lidded and worn thin.
"Don't you know I'm stupid? The hell does 'heedless' mean, blondie?" Levi wore a painful grin.
Erwin furrowed his brow in worry, loosening his grip but not letting go. "Careless," he said gently, thumbing fondly at Levi's flushed skin. "It means. . . Careless."
Levi's bottom lip trembled, and Erwin swore he saw his small body twitch with a hiccup. "Maybe that's what I want, Commander- to end up dead," Levi breathed, sending a cold surge through Erwin.
"Hey, don't say that," Erwin said quickly in a hushed tone. His free hand gently cupped Levi's shoulder.
"Why not?" Levi's voice was so small. It scared Erwin. "Every time I shut my eyes at night, all I see is their faces, hear them call my name." Erwin could feel Levi trembling.
"I know, Levi. By the walls, I know how it feels to begin to go numb. How it is to lose everything close to you, and still need to press onwards," Erwin murmured.
"Oh, sure. You see the face of every comrade that you've sent to death in your dreams. I'm sure you remember each and every soldier." The sarcastic bite in Levi's tone made Erwin unhand the man's arm.
"Excuse me. . ?" Erwin breathed, stupidly hoping he had misheard Levi.
"You don't know how it feels to be looked at like a human shit stain for simply trying to survive! You're just Mr. Fucking Perfect, right?" Levi's fruitless attempt to push Erwin away by his chest only agitated the blonde.
"Another pompous asshole that wouldn't hesitate to judge me from getting on all fours back then just to be able to eat twice a week!" Levi's (false) accusations were making Erwin increasingly angry.
"You're no different than everyone in the Capital-"
"You'd better watch your mouth, Ackerman."
Levi sucked in a short breath so quickly, it made his throat dry up; though, that might've been caused by the snarl of his surname. He didn't get another chance to speak as Erwin loomed over his frame.
"Who gave you an escape route when you had nowhere else to turn? Was it the Capital? Who was it that believed in you when everyone else wanted you to hang? The Capital, perhaps? Apologies, my memory is hazy."
Levi had seen Erwin agitated, seen him berate cadets and superiors alike with no backlash. But the man was always so poised and assured. Sure, the unsettlingly strong fire behind his crystal eyes was never smothered, but it was not once openly expressed.
Until now.
It had Levi- the nephew of Kenny the Ripper, the Captain of the 104th Cadet Corp, Humanity's Strongest Soldier- intimidated enough to shrink in on himself.
"I don't mean to scare you, Levi. I truly don't. But when you have the audacity to lump me into the crowd of discriminatory pedophiles and rapists? After everything I have done for you?" Erwin scoffed, ending his rant.
"I-I... I'm-"
"I don't want you to apologize. It's difficult to believe that you would. It's just not like you," Erwin swallowed thickly as Levi sniffled.
"Levi, I-" Erwin cut himself off, clenching his jaw.
Want you. Need you.
I think I'm in love with you. What a dream it would be to say. But he shouldn't. And he won't.
"You should sober up here while I get work done. How does that sound?" Erwin felt the urge to vomit after those words burned off his tongue.
"Thank you," Levi hardly whispered. "Thank you, Erwin."
Closing his eyes tightly, Erwin nodded, leading Levi to the couch the was sitting against the sidewall.
"Of course, Levi. I would do anything for you."
#erwin smith#snk erwin#snk levi#levi ackerman#aot erwin#levi attack on titan#levi aot#eruri#erwin x levi#levi x erwin#aot#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#angst#aot angst#pain lmao#big sad#so many tags#tw ptsd#tw drinking#tw#tw sucidal thoughts#tw depressing stuff#tw alcohol
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Birthday wishes for Anne 🖤 ( always accepting :3 )
@askshegogo sent: Shego looked down at Anne, who was sat on her green and silver couch and had her hands over her eyes. She smiled as she set the presents down on the tea table in front of the brunette. Moving to the other side of the couch she leaned closer to Anne, her hairs standing on end being so close to the remarkable woman. "Open." Shego whispered against the other's ear and cheek then she sat back to let the brunette take in the mini cakes and little present boxes on the table in front of her. One the size of her palm, the other the size of her arm. "Happy Birthday, Anne." Shego's dark lips spread into a teeth filled grin at her work.
What finer sight to open one’s eyes to? Anne’s attention flies from her companion’s countenance to the rich treats laid out on the table, excitement lighting a sparkle in her eye. Why --- she certainly hadn’t expected to be met with such celebration, despite the significance of the date! A laugh breaks free from her chest at so lavish a display of kindness. “ Oh - they look exquisite! ” she exclaims, gesturing brightly towards the arrangement of pastries and boxes waiting to be relished. “ How lucky I am, to have so loving a friend! ” Her hand finds the younger woman’s knee and encloses it in a grateful squeeze, a smile of unbridled pleasure lighting up her features. Curiosity overtakes her, then, and she seizes the larger of the two boxes, weighing it quizzically in her palm to assess its contents. “ May I? ” Here’s to the hope that her enthusiasm shall be forgiven: swept away by her delight, Anne tears into the gift well before she can receive an answer, fingers nimble in their quick deconstruction of the silken ribbon, the wrapping paper, and the elegant casing underneath. Then ---
“ Ah! ” A gust of awe-struck breath. “ How splendid --- you do know me all too well! ” The sumptuous fabric is soon lifted from its bedding, the threads as light and liquid as water in Anne’s grasp. Silver embroideries adorn the midnight-dark cravat, gleaming with the faintest emerald hue as Anne strokes her thumb along the fine material.
“ Mm. Your colours. I shall think of you all day, surely, whenever I wear them. ” She looks up, catching Shego’s gaze in her own, and holds out the cravat in silent invitation. Her grin contains a challenge. “ Will you help me put it on? ”
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*Griffin voice* Now that’s a boy I can get into!
[ID: From left to right: Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt is a half elf man with tan skin and short, reddish brown hair and light facial hair. He wears glasses, a red vest over a yellow shirt, a short red cape fringed with gold, tan trousers, and dark brown boots with matching cravat. On his hip is a sheathed sword. He is the shortest pictured.
Argo Keen is a water genasi man with light blue skin and long, dark blue pulled into a ponytail. on his face is a large blue handlebar mustache. He wears a puffy sleeved tunic with blue designs, pinstriped jodhpurs, and black laced boots. On his shoulder and waist are two leather belts features sheathed knives. There are sparkles around his head.
“Bud” is a large greenish skin firbolg man. His hair is loosly tied and matted. He is 8ft tall, towering over the other two. He wears layers of leaves in protective armor-like fashion. and dirty cape and baggy trousers. On his back is a large wooden staff. His boots are wrapped in dirt covered strips of cloth. End ID]
#taz graduation#taz grad spoilers#taz spoilers#my art#herbgerbart#sir fitzroy maplecourt#argo keen#bud
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